


physical burn and fade

by brokendrums



Series: even you can't stop the storm [2]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Celtic Mythology & Folklore, Drowning, Merrow, Multi, Shipwrecks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-03
Updated: 2015-12-03
Packaged: 2018-05-04 03:08:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 31,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5318174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokendrums/pseuds/brokendrums
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Niall’s just settling into his life on the boat when it all gets turned upside down - literally.</p>
            </blockquote>





	physical burn and fade

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for graphic descriptions of the sensation of **drowning** , swallowing water and being suspended under water. Do not read if you think this might be upsetting. 
> 
> This was purely indulgent fic that initially started two days before Zayn decided to leave the band and sprawled into too many ocean metaphors and my attempt at shoving too many symbols of Irish mythology into one fic whilst somewhat dealing with my initial thoughts re: Zayn. The longer this sat untouched, the more those feelings changed so I do hope that it makes some sort of sense to those of you who manage to reach the end. 
> 
> Thanks to [herstrionics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/herstrionics) for offering kind comments on the shaping of this. It has lingered in my WIP folder for long enough that I thought I'd let it see the light of day.
> 
> Title from Redlight - Gold Teeth
> 
> A brief recap of the first installment [here.](http://broken-drums.tumblr.com/post/134491330646/i-have-a-big-favour-to-ask-your-boat-fic-is-one)

It’s a creak that rouses him. A loud, groaning, nasty sound of something straining, and then a _scrunch._ It’s too loud to be good. There’s something ominous in how it sounds dense and metallic and scraping. But Niall’s still half asleep, his arm numb under Zayn’s warm neck, Liam spooned up behind him. 

He closes his eyes just in case it had been something from his dreams. He’s been having more of them lately, waking up in a cold sweat sandwiched between two of the lads, their arms anchoring him down. He normally feels more disorientated when that happens though, like he had been in the slow process of waking up for a while and the dream had blurred with reality until it was distorted and disturbing enough to wake him. Looming figures clinging to the corners of the room or making shapes with the silhouette of a hanging towel or a stack of books. 

He’s put it down to the stress of being on the boat, to how long they’ve been out at sea without getting any chance of going home. They’ve made a home here but Niall can’t say he doesn’t miss walking on dry land. 

The dreams are normally worse on the nights when he’s wrung out from working on deck all day, can hardly keep his head up as he tumbles into bed with a belly full of whatever Harry’s managed to stew out of the leftovers. The stocks are depleting again -- every basket and net they dredge up in the afternoon a disappointment. He lags behind the others, palms bandaged as he tries to keep a brave face, grit his teeth through the ache in his bones and struggle on, but the pressure eats at him, dribbling out when he finally lets himself relax, poisoning his dreams at night. 

This doesn’t feel like that. He feels like he’s been shocked awake. Disturbed by something loud enough to rouse him.

He lets his breathing even out with Liam’s -- Zayn’s too fast for him -- and his heart eases a bit as he melts back towards sleep when it happens again. 

It’s another grating clank. It rattles through the metal walls around them. The boat gives another lurch that Niall’s not prepared for. He’s gotten used to the natural rock and roll of the boat the past few months but this doesn’t feel like that at all. It’s too sudden, too much like a shudder. 

“Guys,” he says, wincing when his throat sounds raw. He’s pleasantly sore after his turn in the middle tonight, muscles warm and stretched out. He clears his throat and tries again. “Guys, wake up.”

Zayn huffs in front of him, curling closer into the pillow. Liam hardly moves, mouth slack at the back of Niall’s neck. Liam had been up on the night shift and then stayed up straight through yesterday, only leaving the control room with the lure of a good fuck. The storm had been dying down and Zayn had deemed it safe enough to stick the boat on drift for a few hours while they all caught up with the each other. It hadn’t been the five of them in bed for days, what with the shifts between them overlapping and so much work to do. 

Niall shifts then, forcing his heel back into Liam’s shin. He hurts a bit but it finally makes him jolt. 

“What?” he asks sleepily, arm tightening around Niall’s waist. Zayn hums, eyes still firmly shut. It’s dim in the room, the windows blocked out as usual, but Harry’s left one of the safety torches from the storeroom on in the corner, bathing the room in an artificial yellowing light. 

“Something’s wrong,” Niall tells them, clearing his throat again. It feels rough, rougher than usual. He had taken Louis down into the back of his throat but he’s been working on it so it doesn’t wreck him so much anymore. He coughs again, throat dry, and frowns. 

Zayn’s eyes snap open then, his head pushing back so his hair splays across the pillow as he takes in Niall’s expression. He lifts a hand to settle on Niall’s ribs, just above Liam’s forearm. “You alright?”

Niall huffs out a sigh. “Yes,” he says, exasperated. The boat lurches again and he feels Liam stiffen around him again. “That!” Niall says. “What’s that?” 

“It’s just the storm,” Zayn says, relaxing again now that he knows that Niall isn’t maimed or injured. He moves his hand slowly, skimming down to Niall’s chest. His fingers linger before they tug gently at his nipple. 

Niall gasps, rolls back into Liam’s chest. _“Zayn,”_ he says and hates how gravelly he sounds. He wants him to listen to him for a moment. Liam groans from behind him, rolls his hips against Niall’s arse now that he’s closer enough. Niall half growls, “I’m being serious.”

“C’mon,” Zayn mumbles, leaning forward to kiss him. “So am I.” Niall lets himself get distracted for a moment, trying to focus on the slick way Zayn licks against his mouth and the feel of Liam’s hand drawing over his skin, reaching down to thumb over a nipple like Zayn had. Niall hates how he’s got these new tells. Things that he didn’t even realise he liked properly until the time with the boys has drawn them out and they can read him like a book. 

It happens again just as Zayn is rolling Niall onto his back, pushing a thigh between his knees. It opens Niall up to kiss Liam, sighing into his warm mouth as the noise of ripping rings out through the air. 

Liam pulls back, head snapping up. He’s already pushing himself onto his feet when Niall can hear the slap of bare feet along the floor of the corridor outside their room. 

“Liam!” Harry yells and then he’s barrelling through the door, naked and pale and panicking. “Fuck, Liam!”

“What’s happened?” Liam’s asking but the boat lurches wildly to the side, Niall sliding into Zayn’s chest. Liam plants his hands on the mattress to steady himself.

“I don’t know,” Harry all but whines. When Niall looks up he has a hand fisted in his hair, the other clenched around the metal frame of the door. “The signals went haywire and then there was all this noise. I think one of the pillars has snapped.”

The clanging gets louder then, ringing and near deafening. There’s a shout from far away -- Louis -- and then the alarm goes off. 

Niall cries out. He’s never heard their alarm before. Liam’d mentioned once how they should a drill sometime but Louis had laughed at him and they’d never gotten round to it. It’s loud, drowning out Harry from the doorway. A light flickers on in the ceiling, red and bright. It rotates, sending everything an alarming shade of scarlet. 

Zayn’s suddenly rounding on him, grabbing tight by the shoulder. “Life jacket. _Now!_ “ he orders Niall, dragging him up out of bed. 

It’s much more obvious how tilted they are when Niall gets to his feet. He drags on the first clothes he sees: a pair of jeans that aren’t his and a jumper that pools around his wrists. Liam is pulling on socks, his face a terse line. Zayn isn’t even bothering to dress, just forcing Niall’s head through another jumper. 

“Fuck off,” Niall yells over the blare of the alarm and shoving his arms through the sleeves himself. Zayn’s face is tight when Niall sees him next. “Get yourself dressed!”

“ _I_ don’t need clothes,” he yells back as the boat lists again. Niall feels seasick for the first time in months. He puts up a hand to steady himself against the wall, palm flat.

“We need to go _now_ ,” Harry bellows. His hand clenches down on Niall’s other shoulder and Niall is suddenly being wrenched through the door, feet half shoved into a pair of Converse, the laces slapping along the floor as Harry hurries him towards the control room. Louis’ already there in a pair of tatty joggers and a waterproof coat. It’s not one of the thicker ones but it swamps him anyway as he shoves his feet into a pair of wellie boots. 

The klaxon is louder out here, the wail of it making Niall’s head buzz out into a long drone. Liam is shouting something as he bounds through the door but Niall can’t hear anything over the whirr of it. To his left, Zayn is arguing with Louis now, his hand pointed down at the heavy boots Louis has got on it. Niall can’t make that out either. 

His head spins and when he closes his eyes all he sees is red reflect back at him. 

Harry’s hand steadies him as the boat jerks again. Niall can see the splash of white foam over the barrier and onto the deck, the night in front of them illuminated by the strong floodlights at the front of the cabin. It looks dark beyond it, a wall of black sky and frothy dark water. 

Harry tugs on Niall’s ear roughly to catch his attention. His mouth is set in a firm line and Niall’s rarely seen him this serious. It makes him feel sick, like he could puke all over his bare feet. It’s suddenly the only thing he can think about -- Harry and his nakedness, Zayn in just his boxers. 

“You need shoes,” he says stupidly, but Harry doesn’t acknowledge it, forcing a lifejacket into his hands instead. 

“Put this on, inflate it out on deck.” Harry’s unravelling it, pushing it on over Niall’s head. 

They’d taught him how to use these ones, the big ones that they would only ever use in emergencies. He can remember Louis laughing and pulling Liam into a headlock -- _”Not that our captain would ever get us in danger!”_ but he’s struggling to remember any of the actual lesson. These lifejackets are not like the ones they wear when they’re working out on deck. They’re more heavy-duty and buoyant, with little pulls and tassels for whistles and lamps. Built for long stays in the water. Niall sways on his feet and for a moment it matches the rock of the boat, sending his tummy up into his chest. He retches unapologetically into Harry’s face, his throat stinging. 

“Don’t let go of the lifeboat,” Harry’s saying. Liam’s hitting all sorts of buttons on the dash, the dials spinning uselessly. Louis’ face looks washed out by the red of the alarm, his face in a stern line. He’s got a backpack on, Zayn dragging another over his bare shoulders. Niall frowns. 

“You’ll be cold,” Niall mutters, but it’s lost in the drone around them. “Put a jumper on. You need a coat.”

“Are you listening to me?” Harry demands loudly, leaning in to yell straight in his ear. It makes Niall’s head hurt, ears ringing. Harry’s hands are clenched tight in the ropes of Niall’s life jacket. “Don’t let go. _Don’t go into the water!_ “

Niall nods. A jerk of his chin. He doesn’t know why it’s so important but he knows he doesn’t want in the water anyway. He knows it’ll be freezing. It hits him then that they’re doing this. They’re getting in the life boat. That this one is sinking. They have to get off the boat. 

His chest is starting to feel tight as Harry reknots the ties of the lifejacket around his ribs. The padding is dense and Niall wonders how it’ll keep him afloat at all. How he’ll bob up like a cork in the swirl of an icy vast froth. He tries to take a breath but he can’t get it to go deep enough. He reaches forward to grab onto Harry but he’s not wearing any clothes, no lifejacket to clench his fingers around. 

“Harry,” he says desperately, words getting lost in the chaos around them. It feels like they’ve been standing there for ages, time slowing down agonisingly to draw out the pain. “Your lifejacket. What about -- Why are we--”

Harry ignores him. Or doesn’t hear him. And then Niall’s being marched out the door and onto the deck. He trips on the stairs, his shoelaces getting tangled under his tread, but Zayn’s leading them out and Harry’s hands are curled around the back of the lifejacket, urging him on until they get onto the slippery deck. 

It’s louder out here. The wail of the alarm, the clank of ropes and buckles and hooks battering against the side of the boat, the roar of the ocean around them. A chain kicks up from the opposite side, cracking into the window loudly before bouncing across the deck. It shatters, a spiderweb of cracks spreading across the entire dash. Niall had thought it was shatterproof.

Niall takes a breath, frigid air stinging the back of his throat. It isn’t raining. Niall blinks up into the sky, the wetness he feels against his face is the spray of the waves but it isn’t raining, the wind the only thing that’s close to a storm. 

“Harry,” Niall tries again. It’s still too loud. He just wants to know what’s happening. 

Zayn dashes forward towards the lifeboat, his feet slipping on the deck. Louis and Liam go after him. They’re pushing at Niall’s shoulder to go too, but he can’t move, feet frozen now that they’re outside. 

It’s odd, Liam seemingly relinquishing the lead to Zayn as he pushes Louis into the boat and clambers in after him. Zayn pulls at ropes, hands deftly untying and unhooking. Niall searches his face for something reassuring but he looks terrified. A wave buffets them again. Zayn swings a foot off the ground into the air and Niall cries out, feels his stomach rise to his throat. He doubles over, eyes clenching shut as the boat tips. 

He knows they’ve never gone this far before, the deck going as close to vertical as physics allows. He pushes his hand out, presses it against the grain of the wet wood. He’s nearly chest first against it. The water running down it is freezing, his hand stinging with the raw slap of it as he pushes against the pressure of the boat. He can feel the weight of everything down below shift. Can see Harry’s bare feet in the corner of his eye, everything bright around them from the white floodlights. 

Harry wrenches him up again, hauling him over towards the edge of the raft as the boat settles -- another jerking reactionary swing up to the left in the momentum of the wave. 

“Don’t let go!” Harry yells at him, face fierce as he shoves Niall over the edge of the raft. His expression twists, a shadow of something darker crossing over his face. He looks mutinous for a moment, eyes glaring into him. He looks away sharply at Zayn but Niall doesn’t understand. They’re caught for a moment, in a heavy look. Niall opens his mouth but can’t find anything to say. He sucks in a breath, cold and raw against his throat and then Zayn is kicking them off the side of the boat and Harry is tugging at the string of his life-vest. 

It blows up instantly, inflating with air. The pads of it squeeze at his chest and he’s stunned for a moment, hand clenching in the rope handle of the boat he’s clinging to, his other hand reaching out for Harry again. 

It seems like they tip off the edge of the boat in slow motion, the raft lingering on the precipice of the deck, and then it’s all at once, the rush of wind in his hair chilling the sweat gathered at his neck. The raft tips to the side as it falls and they twist in the air, the water drawing back into another momentous wave so they have further to fall. 

Niall wants to close his eyes but he’s too shocked and stunned to let them. The light from the boat flicks into his vision for a split second. Blinding. He inhales roughly, hardly noticing the the scrape of it up the back of his throat. He smells salt and metal and oil. The raft lands with a flat thud, Niall slipping down a few inches along the bottom as it shudders at the impact. 

His foot kicks into Liam’s thigh, knee buckling against the pressure. His shoulder wrenches as he grips the handle at the edge and then suddenly he’s lifting up again on the roll of the wave, arse coming away from the base of the dinghy altogether. 

He scrambles for Harry, fingers dragging uselessly against his wet, bare shoulder. Niall’s arm snaps against the handle, shoulder pulling painfully at the socket, and his fingers let go automatically against the pain before he’s bouncing over the edge and into the deep, dark, icy water.

*  
*  
*

It’s green when he wakes up. A murky green that stings his eyes and makes him squint. It’s dark, the light above too far away and thin to be of any use. Niall closes his eyes again against it, preferring his own induced darkness.

He could sleep -- he still is. Surely it’s just one of his dreams.

It feels like he’s floating, hands and feet in limbo. They tingle slightly, a soothing but constant pressure against them. He tries to kick, to push through the sluggish, groggy feeling that’s keeping him under, but he can’t move, his feet suspended. 

It’s slow -- the realisation of fear threading through him. A quiet sewing of panic in his gut until it’s laced right the way around his body. He kicks his feet again against the pressure, snaps his eyes open. _Inhales._

His breath bubbles in front of him, the water entering his mouth in thick gulps. It sits on his tongue, tasting like moss and salt and grit. It catches at the back of his raw throat and Niall jolts at the feeling of it regurgitating up through his nose and mouth at the same time before it seeps down into his belly.

But it bubbles right out of him when he breathes out. Air dragging through his lungs. It tickles his nose, water sloshing around his mouth. He spits it out but it doesn’t go away, the water flooding up through his nostrils. He twists his head, feels something flutter under his ears and fights hard against the urge to gag. 

He closes his eyes again, forces himself to be calm. He can’t curl in on himself like he wants, he can’t swim away. He longs for it to be over, whatever nightmare he’s tangled himself up in now feeling all too real. 

He takes another breath, fighting the urge to retch against the water flooding his mouth. He swallows but there’s too much and he has to relax, to unclench his jaw and loosen his tongue. He’s got it down to a steady in and out when he forces his eyes open, letting them sting and adjust to the dim light around himself. 

He’s still in his clothes, the two jumpers twisted around his torso. It reminds him that he should be cold -- his body should be giving into hypothermia at this rate -- but he’s not. The water is pleasant around him, like he’s been in soaking in the bath for longer than he should until it’s grown lukewarm. He’s missing a shoe, his toes wriggling below him. It’s the only movement he can make, his legs slowly giving into the pins and needles he’s got radiating through his muscles and going numb. His arms feel heavy, limp at his sides, and he can’t reach to fix his jumper, or to scratch his face. He can’t wipe at the tickle of water against his nose, the leak of a tear out of his eye. He wishes he could lift his hand to run his fingertips against the ticklish skin of his neck, to feel for whatever is there. 

As his eyes adjust he can make out a structure around him. It shimmers slightly with the water, reflecting back to him through the dim. It looks like golden chains but he’s not close enough to get a proper look at their links. If he could lift his arms he reckons he could touch them and test their strength. The chains enclose him, boxing him in a golden cage, but the water flows easily through the gaps between them, and he notices the whole structure is shifting, like it’s been suspended too. It’s eerie. There’s something haunting about how beautiful it is when it catches a ray of sunlight that manages to sink through the water. 

Niall counts the bubbles escaping through his slack mouth to counteract the crush of his chest at the thought of being caged. He can see beyond the ornate criss-cross of the chains and he focuses on that, tries to tell himself that it’s not six walled sides closing him in at all. He strains his eyes, sees a wriggle of a fish, maybe -- and then the slow blink of a pair of eyes. 

He screams, bubbles flooding out of his mouth easily. They obscure his vision for a moment but he doesn’t care, he’s looking anywhere but straight ahead. He screams and screams until he doesn’t think he can anymore. There’s no sound, not properly. Muted by the water around him, his scream comes out small, and it makes him panic more, his heart pounding. 

It feels too vivid, the eyes too familiar and real to be anything his brain has concocted. He screams soundlessly again, tips his head back and tries to fruitlessly wake himself up.

A hand closes around his bicep and he startles, eyes snapping down. A person has come through the cage, hovering in front of him. Niall opens his mouth to scream again. The face falls, eyes softening in disappointment. It clicks into place for Niall then. He can pick out the familiar shape of those eyes and jaw even if the rest of the face is twisted. 

“Zayn,” Niall breathes out a fresh wash of bubbles. Fuck. He’s never seen Zayn this way before. He’s seen a shadow of merrow flash over Harry’s face before, seen his tail scaled up until his legs were nearly bound together, seen him take on that emerald hue but he’s never seen Harry like this. Never in a full transformation. And never _Zayn._

“Niall.” The mouth opens and it’s not quite Zayn’s usual voice. It’s watery, threading through the space between them. It’s not quite melodic either, something too sharp about the way his tone is straight and strained. And it’s like Niall senses it rather than hears it, the wobble of it transmitting through the water bypassing his ears altogether until it’s just inside his head. 

Niall pants soundlessly, just bubbles.

Zayn’s brow furrows. He doesn’t have eyebrows, just a smudge of darker green forcing his brow into a V. It makes him look like he’s scowling, his whole face gnarled. Niall flicks his eyes down the expanse of his chest. It’s a murky green too, blending in with the water as camouflage. Niall could’ve blinked past him if it wasn’t for his legs. They’re mottled with smudges of bright colour, purples and pinks and golds twisting together down his legs. His feet are bound together, webbed with strands of shimmering silver. It gives the illusion of a tail, but Niall can still make out the structure of Zayn’s leg, the protrude of his knee cap, the firmness of his thigh. He watches as Zayn flicks his ankles, rolls his knees to tread the water, but it’s clumsy, like he’s out of practise. 

“Are you okay?” he asks and inches closer. Niall blinks, tries to find the words because of course he’s not okay. It’s dawning on him, as incredulous as it is, that this could be actually happening. 

“I can’t move,” Niall tells him. It’s the only thing he can think of blurting out in a stream of bubbles that Zayn seems to understand perfectly. Zayn inches closer again, the side of his face cutting through the stream of light. It filters around him like a halo, illuminating the slight pink of his nose, the curve of his ear and the fan of dark, grassy hair. He doesn’t look too bad. Niall can still see the way Zayn’s trying to smile reassuringly at him, the softness of his chin. He wonders if his nose will scrunch if Niall made him laugh, if Niall could get his eyes to light up and get rid of the worry settled there above his sunken cheeks. 

Niall strains with his arms and legs but it’s like there’s something moulded to him, keeping him still and soundless in the water.

“You’ve been enchanted,” Zayn tells him softly. “It’s, uh-- the only thing I could think of to do. It’s been a while.”

He looks embarrassed. Ashamed, even. Niall feels a strange stab of guilt at that -- Zayn probably doesn’t want to be here any longer than Niall does. He’s always thought of Zayn as being especially wary of going back under the water, unsure of the strange possibilities. 

Harry had told him in a whispered conversation, long ago with the two of them tucked back up in Niall’s old bed on the boat -- a rare occurrence since Niall had moved in with them in the master bed, the five of them usually together. Niall had pressed his back against the cool wall of the top bunk and asked for it all. He had wanted to know everything. It had only taken a few moments for Harry to finally give in, to whisper to him about how Zayn had made the boat his safe place, a perfect balance between his new earthly world and his closeness with the sea. Harry told him things that Niall’d already knew -- how the only time Zayn stepped off the boat since they’d started fishing was to go and persuade Niall to come back with them -- and things he didn’t. Like how he had begged Liam to stay in the cabin on rough days in case he got swept back out into the ocean, how Zayn had never stayed long enough in seawater to see his scales grow back before Niall had asked him to and how Zayn had stopped talking about his family, stopped mentioning their names when Harry spoke of Gemma and of their lives below the ocean.

Niall had kept a close eye on him then, standing quietly at the doorway into the navigation room as Zayn sat by the window staring out. He always seemed so quiet those days, his eyes lost on the horizon and wrapped up in a soft hoodie. He would cock his head to the side and Niall would know he’d been caught but Zayn would never say anything, just squeeze his arm around Niall’s shoulders when he finally came to stand beside him at the window. Niall would bite his tongue on all the questions he had -- where was Zayn from? Did he miss his family? What would happen if he went under the surface? -- too scared of the answer. It wouldn’t be long until Louis would slam through the door and break up their quiet, content, silence. He’d yell something, Harry close on his heels until Niall would be dragged into an impromptu game of hide-from-Captain-Liam when he was being particularly tyrannical. 

It was easy in those moments to forget all about the fact that Harry and Zayn were merrow, they fitted too easily into their little fivesome on the boat, their actions too human to be anything but Harry and Zayn. Harry would drag him into his special hiding place in the coat room, kissing him up against the door until Liam would have put a call out over the tannoy for them. He’d watch them pull Louis up to waltz around the kitchen while they waited for the shipping forecast, Zayn’s feet moving effortlessly across the peeling linoleum. Zayn would grin at him, his nose scrunching up as Niall passed him some of Harry’s fish stew for dinner or when he got a triple word score in Scrabble on blustery afternoons off from fishing. Harry would frown, his head buried into a tattered old dictionary that Liam had got them in a charity shop in town, just to prove Zayn wrong. With long, slow days on the boat and aching hands as they threw all their energy into fishing, Niall could easily just swallow down the little magic red hats and the shiny, scaly, fins as old wives’ tales.

And yet, here they are. Half a league under the surface and suspended in a little golden box. 

“How are you here?” Niall asks him, not being able to help himself as he remembers Zayn’s velvety smooth cohuleen druith buried at the back of his dad’s garden. He wants to ask the questions now. He needs Zayn’s answers. 

Zayn’s eyes flash up to him. “I don’t --” His head twitches to the side and Niall wonders what he’s thinking, what he’s hesitating for. Niall wishes he could prepare himself more for whatever is going to come out of Zayn’s mouth. He wishes he could reach out and touch him, brush a thumb over the thin ridge of his lip that looks so different to the one he gets to kiss up on land. His hands feel heavier at his sides, like they’re reminding him how hard it is to lift them and touch. 

Zayn’s eyes flash again and he opens his mouth, letting Niall spy a line of sharp emerald teeth. “We’re as far down as I could go,” Zayn finally says, carefully. “I think anyway.” 

He gestures up above them and Niall knows that if the sun can filter down they must not be as deep as he had first worried. It still feels pretty fucking deep though. Zayn watches him carefully but his attention seems elsewhere as he continues. “I don’t feel well if we go down further. My --” 

Niall frowns. “We don’t have to be down here,” he says, feeling confused. “Let’s go back up. Find the others.”

Niall feels a jolt of panic -- the others. He feels so hyperaware of his surroundings that he keeps lapsing on other stuff. The boat, the others, Harry, Louis and Liam. 

Zayn shakes his head suddenly, face pulling taut. He lets out a breath like it’s being pushed out of him. There are no bubbles. “I shouldn’t have done this.”

Niall stares at him. He’s alive at the moment -- well, he thinks he is -- so he considers it edging more towards positive on their very precarious tipping scale. He wants to ask why Zayn feels like that, wants to know what he’s _done_. He wonders where Harry is again, where Louis and Liam are. Are they in their own shiny little cages? Are they up above? Are they _alive?_

Niall chokes a bit. For the first time it actually feels like he might not be able to breathe. He doesn’t want to think about where Liam and Louis are, in case they’re not safe at all. Zayn’s eyes snap up again and he reaches for Niall, fingers halting close to this face. Niall can see the gossamer web of silver between his fingers, his whole hand webbing together. It only laces up to his knuckle, the tip of his fingers allowed to expand the span of his hand further than Niall thinks he should be able to normally. 

“Can you let me move?” Niall asks instead. Zayn looks genuinely torn and there’s the first flicker of instinctual fear alighting in the pit of Niall’s stomach. No matter how much water he’s swallowing, he’s not sure it’ll douse once it’s been lit. 

“Do you promise not to escape?” Zayn says after a moment, his voice raking over the words. He jerks his shoulder again, as if he’s stopping himself from looking over it. 

Niall hitches a breath, nearly chokes again. He’s never imagined a situation where he’s have to _escape_ from Zayn. “Where could I go?” he tries to keep it light. 

There’s a thrum of adrenaline running through him. He could escape if he wanted to. Or he can fool himself into thinking he could. The sun is getting stronger above them, the weedy, brownish green tinge of the water thinning. He can nearly taste the crisp air on his tongue, the feel of the sun warm on his wet face. He could be anywhere when he broke the surface, floating miles away from their little rubber dinghy but at least it would be _above_. 

Zayn looks conflicted for another moment but then raises his hand, presses it to Niall’s throat. His hands feel cool, slippery as he presses his palm to his chest. He drags it slowly down, lets his fingertips press into the space just above his collar. Niall thrums hot, the numbness melting away like ice until he can rotate his wrists and flick his feet. 

“Thank you,” Niall whispers, a spiel of bubbles passing between them. Zayn smiles then, his thin lips finally turning up. Niall feels a warm throb of curious want. He could press forward and kiss him like that. He isn’t sure how he’d taste. 

“They’re here,” Zayn says instead and Niall frowns, pulls back to look at his entire face and not just the human brown of his eyes, the way they’ve tinged a bloodshot pink just like Niall’s probably have. It sounds resigned but Niall can’t help hear the warning in his tone, even with the way it’s been distorted by the water. It’s not Harry, Louis, or Liam he means.

Before Niall can ask “Who?” he suddenly catches sight of them. The bright of their eyes, the shine of their teeth. Niall doesn’t have time to count how many there are, rows upon rows of eyes staring at him through the sediment. He can see them from the corner of his eye, a long line of them extending behind Zayn and right the way round again. As far as he can see. He jerks away from Zayn quickly -- finding that surge of adrenaline to propel himself sideways. He feels clumsy, his arms still moving through the water like it’s sand but it seems like no time when he reaches the side of the box. 

Zayn’s scrambling behind but Niall’s vision is obscured with the bubbling of his breath through his mouth and then suddenly, he pushes himself through the glittering threads of his cage. The chains catch around his chest, stronger than they look but finally, they ping and break around him as he fights through them. 

It’s like he’s been plunged into ice, the cold making him inhale sharply. But it’s not like before -- the water burns down his throat as he gasps for air that doesn’t exist anymore. He scrambles towards the light, desperate for oxygen but it’s so far away. His bare toes drag against his ankle, something slippery in the water floating near him and it’s like he’s being stepping on drawing pins -- rolling in them as his skin starts to give into the cold. He thinks he feels something touch his arm, hot fingers closing around his bicep, before there’s a tug behind him and he’s torn away. His body goes easily, all attempt at movement dashed as his muscles seize with the cold. 

The cage is like an envelope of warmth around him again, Zayn’s arm strong against his chest as he drags him back into the confines of it. He coughs, splutters at the sudden glorious ability to breathe. The sensation of water in his mouth revolts him, now that he has the reminder of what if feels like to actually be drowning. He retches, tries to get his breathing under control, but he can’t. He blinks, eyes stinging, and he shivers, skin still smarting from the chill. 

Niall is breathing too fast to compensate. Bubbles stream out of his mouth as he tries to catch his breath. It goes in deep and settles right into the bottom of his chest but it doesn’t feel like it’s working. He sucks in another one and another until Zayn finally touches his chin to force Niall to look at him. It takes up most of his vision and he fights to concentrate on Zayn. He can still feel the phantom warmth on his arm where Zayn isn’t touching him.

“You’re fine,” Zayn tells him. There’s an edge to his voice, like it’s a command. Niall forces himself to slow down. To hold his breath once he sucks it in. He should go back to counting bubbles. “This is why I told you not to escape,” Zayn says, as if there could have been any other explanation.

“I couldn’t breathe,” Niall tells him, like he already doesn’t know. “It was cold.” Niall can’t help flicking his eyes over Zayn’s shoulder. The crowd are still there, looming beyond the bounds of his golden cage. He kicks his feet, feeling the need to tread water even though Zayn is still holding him up. 

“Fuck,” Zayn says and his face screws up again. He throws a glance properly over his shoulder now, not pretending that they aren’t there anymore. His eyes slide behind Niall’s head. Niall jerks. There must be merrow behind him, too. The knowledge that he’s surrounded gnaws at him, makes him feel far more enclosed than the cage ever did. He focuses on Zayn, pretends that Zayn’s hands are the real Zayn’s hands, his Zayn’s hands. He doesn’t like that he has to make the distinction.

Zayn’s eyes slide to the left again and Niall can’t help it, he has to glance there too. He double takes, a bubbled breath leaving him again shortly as he takes in the sight of Harry pressed up against the wall of the cage. His face is a gnarled picture of anger. Though Niall had been able to break through the chains, they’re keeping Harry out. 

Harry’s eyes flick over to Niall. They go soft and concerned before becoming a raging glare as he turns back to Zayn. Harry mouths -- his voice silenced by the web of gold in front of him but not less clear -- _Let me in._

“Why can’t he come in?” Niall asks immediately and Zayn snaps his attention back to him. He looks defensive suddenly. Niall doesn’t like it when he gets like this. It’s not often that it happens up above on the boat; normally he goes quiet and will huddle by a window and smoke until he’s relaxed enough to join in the fun again. Niall reaches out, settles his palm against Zayn’s arm, lets his fingers drift down to where the edging of a wafer thin fin strips down the side of his bicep to his elbow. 

Niall keeps his hand where it is, conscious not to move it. Zayn takes a breath, even when Niall suspects he doesn’t need to. “He doesn’t want you here.” Zayn says.

“And you do?” Niall asks, unable to keep the alarm out of his voice. He has no idea _where_ he is but he doesn’t like the idea of being kept down here. He wants to get back to his boat -- if he has a boat to go back to. 

Zayn winces. “No. I don’t know. Fuck, I don’t know.” He turns and stares at Harry again. Niall tries to tamp down the panic building in his gut. He wishes that Liam and Louis were here -- just for the mere fact that he’d know they were okay. They know how to deal with this type of thing, they’ve dealt with Zayn like this before. Niall’s swimming in the dark. 

“I didn't think you'd go over the edge. I just want you to be safe. It made sense to just do this and --” Zayn waves his hand vaguely the cage. “I wasn’t thinking. You weren't supposed to be here. I --”

He cuts off and abruptly reaches forward towards Harry, dragging him in by his wrist. 

Harry’s on him nearly immediately, rolling with him until they float towards the bottom of the cage. Niall sinks a bit lower too and he wonders if he stops swimming if he’d just sink through the floor. He kicks up and feels how the water is thicker, the cage seeming smaller and more concentrated now that Harry and Zayn are rolling around it. 

Niall focuses on them, tries not to think of the circle of creatures surrounding him. How they could maybe get him now that Zayn and Harry are distracted, get their slimy fingers around his bony ankle and jerk him down into the depths below. He doesn’t know what they want from him. If they even want him at all. They seem so much scarier, so much more foreign than Harry and Zayn do. He catches the pinpoint of their eyes and glances quickly away. They seem so much more closer. 

“What the fuck?” Harry is crying and his voice scrapes with it. It sounds unnatural, a rawness that Niall very rarely hears. It’s strange, an abrasiveness to their voices now that they’re in the water. 

Zayn shoves at him and the water moves around them like a current, an unseen wave buffeting Niall along a few inches. He has to go with it, his arms and legs growing tired from constantly treading to stay in place. He can’t stop or he’ll sink and he can’t kick too much or he’ll send himself right through the roof of the cage. He needs to stay just there so he doesn’t get plunged into icy water again.

“I don’t know,” Zayn defends himself, reaching out to stop Harry from trying to slap him again. “Fuck off, Harry. Do you think this is what I wanted?”

Harry takes a heaving breath. “I don’t know anymore! What _did_ you want? What did you want when you stoked a storm and sunk us?”

Niall feels a jolt in his stomach at that. Zayn did this? 

Zayn twists out of his grip and pushes himself through the water, setting a foot or two between them. “I didn’t,” he says but Niall can hear how it’s a lie. It’s something that Niall’s become a master at -- catching the fine tuned lies that they all tell each other after months of doing nothing but getting to know each other on the boat. Normally they’re little things -- Louis’s false compliments for Harry’s charity shop purchases, Liam’s pretend disdain for Zayn’s cigarettes, how Louis pretends not to be the most homesick. 

This is different though. This feels bigger. 

And that’s what’s even more heartbreaking. Harry’s face twists Niall skims his shoulder with his toe and Zayn jerks his head up, as if he had forgotten that Niall was still so close. 

Zayn’s face falls and Niall sees his eyes dart back to the group of merrow surrounding them full circle. “I don’t know. It’s just been-- it’s been so long since I’ve been in the water.” Zayn looks desperately up at Niall. “I didn’t want this, you know that. I didn’t want it like _this_.”

Niall nods. He inhales again because his chest is starting to ache -- a stitch sewing itself between his ribs. He believes him. Zayn would never lie about that. 

Harry eyes him, his face etched with anger that Niall knows isn‘t directed at him. “Are you okay?” he demands. Niall nods, still feeling out of breath. It’s a relief to have Harry here, like now there’s another person who might be able to keep Zayn in check. Niall swallows, he’s never felt like he’s had to have someone else with them before. He’s never had to keep Zayn in _check._ It’s numbing, the thought that Zayn could _dangerous_. 

Niall kicks his legs again and Harry shifts. He’s filling out his legs nicely, blues and purples swirling up his thighs to curl around his hips. His ankles are knotted together, just as Zayn’s are, but Harry looks so much more in control, like he’s not fighting where his ankles are joined. 

“Fuck’s sake,” Harry complains and offers Niall his hand. Niall sinks into his side gratefully, ignoring the odd feeling of Harry’s flimsy fins as he slides his arm around Niall’s back. Something tickles at Niall’s neck again and he forces himself not to touch there. He doesn’t want to feel. “You’ll drown because of exhaustion and then all this will have been pointless,” Harry’s still gripeing. 

Zayn’s face crumples. “It was the only thing I could do. It was just _instinct._ ”

Zayn sounds so disappointed in himself, like it was something in his making that forced him to do this. Niall still doesn’t really understand but Harry’s quiet beside him, like he’s trying to formulate the right response. 

Niall can feel Harry’s chest deflate, his hand gripping onto Niall’s jumper tight. “You want to be here?” he asks carefully.

Zayn shakes his head but his eyes looks so big and sad. He opens his mouth but doesn’t speak, just lets his mouth fall open. Harry sighs, propelling them forward until he can skim his thumb across Zayn’s lip. “You’ve called your entire family,” he says quietly, like a reminder. “That must have --”

He cuts off and Niall watches as Zayn’s eyelids flutter closed and his mouth drops open. Niall’s seen him do this before but it’s usually within the confines of their bed and neither of them have gnarled fingers laced with shiny webbing. 

“I’ve missed them,” Zayn says then, and his demeanour has changed completely. It makes Niall’s stomach drop, the thing that’s lurking underneath his words. They spill out of his mouth like he’s been caught out and he’s finally admitting something he’s been keeping bottled up inside him for ages. “It’s been so _long._ I couldn’t help myself. It just felt so nice to be back.” He opens his eyes, looks straight at Harry. “I didn’t think I could get back into the water. Didn’t think I could go back, but here…here I am. Y’know? Here they are.”

Niall lets the words wash over him, lets his legs go slack and Harry holds him up as his muscles start to relax. He feels a wave of tiredness, his head swimming. The water blurs Zayn’s features for a moment but when Niall blinks he’s back into focus, face blank where he’s looking at the webbing between his fingers. 

“I just had to make a clean break, you know,” Zayn says but it’s imploring. Begging Harry to understand him.

Harry makes a choked off noise and Niall turns his head, takes in how Harry’s skin is paling out, a dull mossy green. 

“Are you going to stay?”

Harry’s tone is sharp, even diluted by the water around them. Zayn hesitates, Niall can see it flit across his face. He glances out to the periphery of the cage and Niall knows that it’s his family out there. Niall feels cold again. He hadn’t ever thought they’d be in this position -- especially so soon. He thought Zayn was _happy_.

“You can’t,” Niall gasps out and hates how it sounds. He can’t make his voice sound like his own. It sounds too far away. “What about the boat? What about Liam and Louis? What about --”

He cuts off before he can say, what about _me?_ Zayn’s face falls further, turning sunken and gnarled, like his features have melted like wax. It looks slightly repulsive but Niall keeps his eyes on him, forces himself to watch him. It shouldn’t matter what he looks like. 

“Niall,” he says quietly, wibbled by the water surrounding them. Niall gags on the sensation of the water as it rolls down his throat. 

“Aren’t we going to talk about it?” Niall asks him urgently. They can maybe persuade him to change his mind. Niall just needs to get Zayn up above them again. Needs to show him how much the five of them work together. How much they need him to keep them all together. Niall’s not thinking when he blurts out angrily, “Or is this just something you’ve decided for yourself?” 

Harry looks between them, his face tense like it had been carved out of stone. He’d suit sitting on the corner of an old building, his body hunched over. A gargoyle keeping watch. 

Zayn looks devastated for a moment, his face sunken and unfamiliar.

Niall inhales again and it doesn’t feel right, a trickle of water too cold down the back of his throat. He gags again, the saltiness burning his trachea. 

“My family,” Zayn says and he looks desperate, his brow bone set rigid. Niall can see how he looks past them again, out at the merrow beyond the cage. 

Niall blinks, feels the sting in his eyes. He’s growing cold, razor sharp feeling coming back to his legs and arms. He inhales again, feels it right at the back of his throat.

“Keep him under,” Harry says suddenly, his gaze flitting from Niall’s face to where Zayn’s floating in front of them. “You have to keep him under. Zayn, he’ll drown.”

Zayn looks up at him helplessly. “I can’t. I don’t know how I did it in the first place.”

Harry growls, a deep and feral roar out of the back of his throat. It whooshes past Niall’s head in a whirl of bubbles and Zayn tumbles back. Niall’s vision swims as the glittering cage begins to crumble. Its arms fold in on itself like an elaborate deck of cards spilling and splitting in tiers across him, its spindles dropping like matchsticks hot against his skin. He can barely feel it through the growing cold, the golden ribbons slipping past like warm silk. 

Zayn twists then, reaches forward to touch his hand to Niall’s cheek. Harry lets him, his hand gripping at Zayn’s arm. He pulls him close until they can touch foreheads, their strong brows pressed together. Niall lets his head loll against Harry’s shoulder, his vision blurring enough that it‘s like a tunnel. Zayn’s hand curls against Niall’s face, his fingers sharp there like a scratch before he twists away from Harry, his back bowing as he kicks his growing tail. It looks pretty, Niall thinks as his mind begins to drift. The colours swimming together, ribbons of gold falling away with the displacement of water. 

Then there are others -- all of the rest emerging out of the shadows. They don’t seem scary anymore, their entire faces soft with an unknown emotion, familiar like Zayn’s. The women beautiful under heavy crimson hoods and the men decorated in dark swirling markings across their chest, their hair short and cropped. Zayn fits in with them seamlessly, meshing in their strong front to Niall and Harry -- the missing piece of their family jigsaw. 

Harry tightens his grip on Niall’s chest, holds him close, and then kicks off, dragging Niall out of the protective cage once and for all and into the freezing ice water. Niall gasps, water flooding through his lungs, filling him from the inside out. 

It feels like he’s being pushed out of a bubble. Harry’s hands huge on his back, one tugging on the loop of his jeans and the other pressed against his shoulder as he pushes him up out of the water. 

It’s grey above, the sky clouded over and angry. It takes Niall a moment to adjust to the change: He doesn’t have to squint through seaweed and dirty water to make anything out. Everything is sharp. Everything is clear.

He bobs for a moment, weightless and disorientated, face to the weak sun, before he starts to panic. There’s nothing to put his feet to, his legs kicking through water, jeans heavy. His breathing is a delayed reaction -- or so it feels like, water dripping off his nose and from his hair. It’s bitterly cold. He sucks a breath and it lodges in his throat, makes him cough and splutter. There’s water in his mouth, a constant stream of it regurgitating up out of his stomach as he gets used to breathing actual air. He had just been getting used to the stream of endless bubbles. 

He hardly notices Harry’s hands on his waist, keeping him above the water. He flails out a hand, grasping at useless froth from the water to try and keep him steady. He fights for his breath, the world tilting around him as he looks desperately around him. There’s nothing out there. Just a grey horizon as far as his eye can see and choppy, choppy water. 

It feels like hours before he’s able to drag air into his lungs and it makes him cough again, his throat raw and broken, but it feels good, like they’re finally clearing. He does it again. And again, and again until the tightness there dulls and every breath comes cleaner. His mouth tastes of salt, of dirt and muck, and he gags again, more tepid water flooding his mouth. He spits it into the ocean and pants, waiting for the queasiness to subside. 

Harry’s murmuring to him, his voice taking on that swimmy, melancholy tone that Niall’s heard before. Niall’s vision blurs and he lurches again, hands thrashing instinctively to find something solid. 

“I’ve got you,” Harry’s saying, his hand rubbing up Niall’s back. It’s probably not the first time he’s said it since they’ve surfaced because he repeats it again, like a mantra that Niall’s only hearing for the first time. His other senses are slowly coming back to him -- his head roaring with the thud of his heart, the disorientating gurgle of water plugged in his ear. It rushes, like his insides have turned into waves as well. Apart from that and Harry’s murmuring there’s nothing but the lap of water, and that’s what’s starting to scare him most. 

“I’m here,” Harry says, as if he’s sensing Niall’s panic. And he does have him. Niall’s side is pressed against Harry’s chest, Harry’s arm lodged under both of Niall’s armpits like a float. His other hand is tracing slow circles across Niall’s back and for a brief moment, as Niall spits up more dirty sea water, he feels like he’s being burped like a baby. 

“Holy,” Niall rasps, teeth chattering. He thinks for a brief moment that he was going to follow that with a swear but the words that follows hardly surprise him, not really. “Mary, mother of God.” He feels Harry’s hand stop on his back and he coughs, clears his shredded throat and starts again because he’s not doing it properly -- not that Harry would know. 

Niall gasps, his eyes widening as he looks up at the stormy sky. He’s going to die here. He’s maybe already dead. Harry’s got a big long tail and is somehow holding him in the middle of the Atlantic. Zayn’s gone. Liam and Louis are --

“Hail Mary, full of grace,” Niall starts again, voice thready as he tries to go louder. His lips feel numb, his mouth drying out. He licks over his lips and feels where they’re rough and scraped. “The Lord is with thee, blessed art thou amongst women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.” He chokes a bit then and his face is wet. A different type of wet from the slap of water against his chest and the ripples where it meets Harry’s arm. It’s warm where the tears dribble down his cheeks. 

“Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners now and until the hour of our death.” Harry’s arm tightens around him, pulls him through the water so he’s pressed close. Niall can feel the cool of his breath against his cheek where it’s wet. “Amen,” Niall finishes shakily. He waits a moment for the dawning relief but it just makes the panic claw up his throat more. He should say another and another until he’s gone through the whole rosary. 

“That’s pretty,” Harry says and it shocks him out of his thoughts.

“What?” Niall asks. His voice is breaking, he’ll rhyme his rosary into himself, he thinks. So his voice doesn’t give out. He might need it later. Might need it to scream for help. His hand jerks out again, looking for something reassuringly solid.

The water’s freezing, tiny little pinpricks of ice tattooing themselves into every inch of his skin. His jumpers are too wet to provide heat, the back of them dragging him down. The wool swathed across his shoulder has gone scratchy. Harry’s not that warm either but at least he’s solid, so Niall holds on for dear life, his fingers white where they’re locked in a grip around Harry’s forearm as he shivers against him. 

“That poem,” Harry says. His voice seems very close, lips brushing against Niall’s ear where Niall’s burrowing into him out of instinct. 

“Not a poem,” Niall tells him. His head is thumping and he can’t really find the energy to explain to him. It seems a bit ludicrous that he has to, but then again, Harry’s a fucking merrow. He didn’t grow up with prayers or Mass. He never sat on cold pews on a Sunday morning or bowed his head to a bell. It makes Niall laugh, a hollow bark of a noise from deep at the back of his aching throat -- it’s not funny. 

He lets his teeth chatter for a moment until it becomes background noise and he doesn’t realise he’s doing it. He jerks every so often, flailing for something to hold on to but Harry just pulls him closer and tightens his grip. 

“We’ll find them soon,” Harry murmurs to him and it’s calming, just the reassuring and light tone he’s taken on. He wishes he sounded more like himself though, more human. “We’ll get you home.”

“Yeah,” Niall nods, his muscles stiff and sore as he cracks his neck down. It makes him feel sick, another swoop of nausea rocking through him as he takes a face full of water. 

He coughs against it and Harry drags him back, a hand coming up to cup at his sopping cheek. It’s too disorientating so he leans back, sags into Harry’s broad chest and stares at the darkening sky. 

“Hail Mary,” Niall starts.

And doesn’t stop. 

*

They find them just as it starts to rain. It’s still too cold, his face growing wetter and wetter but Harry tugs at his chin, pulls at his jaw until Niall can catch some of it in his mouth. It rolls down the back of his throat and it makes him gag again, rough and sore with his parched throat. He’s not sure if he’ll ever be able to stop doing that, every breath on the end of a hiccough that makes him feel raw but it slowly and surely makes him feel better -- fat, wet drops of rainwater rolling down the back of his throat, coating his tongue until he can swallow without it sticking to the roof of his mouth. 

“Drink up,” Harry says, hiding his smile into the drying ends of Niall’s hair. He doesn’t know how long they’ve been out of the water -- long enough for Niall to feel numb and half dead already. Long enough for the waves to half lull him to sleep before he panics and wakes himself up again. Long enough for Harry to half dry out, his face growing pruney and grey because he hasn’t been underwater in so long. 

“You’re doing so well,” Harry will say to him every so often, shake him awake with soft words and a gentle push. His voice is dry and jarring, lacking the real warmth that Niall’s used to. 

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, Niall is worried. 

The moon has been their only saving grace, bright enough that Niall can make out the shadowy side of Harry’s face whenever he braves turning his head. He still feels at a constant rock, his feet dragging behind them underwater as they bob along. If he moves too suddenly and Harry hasn’t got a good enough grip, he slips down under the surface and the panic engulfs him, makes him feel warm for a moment as he shakes himself and Harry drags him back again, coughing and spluttering all over again. Dunk, rinse and repeat. 

He’s half asleep, half ready to just give into the blackness when he sees them. His cheek is pillowed against Harry’s shoulders, cheek stuck to the papery skin there under the hollow of Harry’s throat. It should be pitch black, the moon dipping behind an unseen blanket of thick cloud, but Niall can seem the glimmer of a light in the distance. 

“There,” he croaks. The first word he’s said in what feels like days. Harry turns his head, moves his ear closer because he can’t hear over the lap of the water. “There,” Niall repeats, words splintered.

And there it is. A flicker of a light, too bright to be anything but a lamp. 

“It’s them,” Harry says, his voice lilting in the night breeze. Niall feels his mind drift, getting lost in it for a moment before he blinks his mind away from sleep. “Niall, it’s them.”

The relief makes him warm, knowing that they’re ok. Liam and Louis will know how to look after each other. “And Zayn?” Niall says, voice rough. He can’t help but hope, his mind delirious with it. Harry tightens his hold on him.

“Zayn will be fine,” he says quietly.

He rolls then, one hand still keeping Niall firm to his chest. Niall closes his eyes against it. It feels like he’s full of water himself, everything inside him sloshing and rolling like a barrel. Water laps further up his neck, his chin dips into it. He remembers to breathe, the air burning through his mouth. 

Harry swims with one arm, his body rocking with every strong flick of his tail. It’s not as fast as earlier and Niall can recognise that he’s tired, the soft crepe-like texture of his skin a testament to how long his top half has been out of the water. He scoops with his arm, a one-armed breaststroke and Niall feels the urge to kick along, to help him out but he can’t get his legs to work. They’re tangled with each other, heavy with water and numb like lead. 

It seems to take an age, Niall’s shoulder dipping rhythmically into the water with every bob of their swim. The light flickers on and off, rolling with the wind. Niall keeps his gaze on it, watches as it seems to get closer only to wane again and slips back towards the darkened horizon. 

And then suddenly they’re upon it. The bleak sound of the warning bell, clanging with every rock of the dinghy -- a dull thud of the blunt clapper against the hollow inside of a metal bell. 

It’s all noise and the glare of the emergency lamp and two sets of bright, wide nearly feral eyes. He closes his own and sees eyes in the murky water against the back of his eyelids, just beyond his reach. 

Hands reach for him, drag him up by the woven shoulders of his jumper, the collar dragging against his neck as they pull him up. He feels too heavy, Harry’s hands on his waist and pushing his sodden bottom half and then he’s flat against the bottom of the dinghy, his hands pressed against the rubber and the plastic below him. 

He gasps wetly, drips onto the floor and spreads out against it, chokes back a sob at the feel of something solid and cool under his wrinkled fingertips. It almost feels unreal.

Louis drags him onto his back, his hands roaming over every inch of Niall’s frigid skin. 

“Need to get you dry,” he says through clenched teeth but it sounds too far away. Niall opens his mouth, feels fingers tug at the sopping buttons of his jeans and pull at the jumpers clinging to his waist. 

He breathes, stares up at the sky. There’s a whoosh and a roll of heat. Niall blinks and intense magenta fills the sky, sends it a sprawling sepia colour. Niall rasps in another breath and watches it float, white and bright. 

Until it fizzles into black. 

*

“Thank fuck you’re awake,” Louis says when Niall opens his eyes to watery dawn light. He looks slightly hysterical in front of him, eyes manic and lips dry. Niall jerks away from him instinctively. Louis must have been watching him. “Do you know how long you’ve been asleep?”

Someone’s pushed up against his back, a hand tucked against his belly to keep him still. He’s warm in their little cocoon of blankets, skin on bare skin to keep the heat. Niall grunts, his voice caught in the thick ache of his throat. 

“Two days,” Louis tells him anyway. “Nearly two fucking days you’ve been curled up there.”

Niall blinks at him, lets the crust at the corners of his eyes crack open. Liam rubs his palm slowly down his belly and he knows he’s awake too. 

“Been worried,” Liam murmurs then, pressing his lips to the skin behind Niall’s dry and salt caked hair. 

“Water,” Niall rasps and Louis is jumping off to the side of the dinghy. It rocks mercilessly and Niall groans with it, his stomach protesting. He’s hungry and thirsty and he’s pretty sure he’s got a shocking case of sunburn with the way his face feels tight. 

“Here,” Louis tells him, his voice gone gentle even if there’s still a slightly taut undercurrent to it. He’s wearing one of the jumpers that Niall had had on underwater and he frowns at him, his head starting to pound with being perpendicular to Louis’ face. 

He moves to sit up, Liam helping him with a hand to his back. Louis hovers on his haunches, a hand held out in case Niall drops one of the emergency canisters that Louis managed to grab before they sunk. 

The first taste is bliss, cool and clean across his parched throat. He guzzles at it, letting it spill down his dry chin. Louis looks alarmed and Liam settles a hand on his shoulder. “Slow.”

Niall forces himself to stop, his fingers white around the neck of the bottle. It’s nearly slippery in his hand and they’re shaking too much as he coughs, his tongue too big for his mouth. He takes two breaths, even and slow before he takes another drink. Canteen rattling against his teeth. This time he actually tastes it as it slicks over his tongue like lukewarm dishwater. “Ugh, fuck!”

Louis snorts. “Rain water is all we’ve got left, I’m afraid.” He gives him a soft smile, reaches to wipe at the drip at the corner of Niall’s cracked lips and gently pries Niall’s hands off the bottle. “And we have to save it. Not sure when it’ll downpour again. Or --” Louis heaves a deep breath. “How long we’ll be here.”

Niall nods, not feeling nearly refreshed enough. His throat is still dry, his stomach still sick. He shivers, his stomach rolling at the phantom memory of the water glugging down his throat underwater. It feels like such a distant nightmare, too intense to be real. He presses his fingers to his elbow, the nails digging in reassuringly there. 

“You cold?” Liam asks immediately. “We’ve been taking turns drying clothes.”

He reaches for the second jumper that’s lying off to the side of the dingy, half pulled up off the plastic tarpaulin flooring to let it dry in the sun. Liam passes it to him and it’s the first time that Niall’s seen him since the sinking. His face pensive and tight with worry. 

“Hi,” Niall croaks and reaches for him, forgetting all about the jumper to pull him into a hug. Liam goes easily, folding down into Niall’s chest until he can bury his face into Niall’s neck. 

“Niall,” he breathes into Niall’s ear and tugs him closer. Niall can feel where they’re both naked, the scratchy blanket pooling around their waists as Liam pulls Niall’s knee up around his hip. The sea air is cool against his back for a moment and makes him shiver as Liam cradles him, murmuring how _worried_ he was low into Niall’s throat and for a moment Niall feels sick. That that could’ve been it. He shivers again but it doesn’t last long for Louis comes behind him, shuffling into the hug until he can bury his face in Niall’s other shoulder to block out the cold. 

“I love you,” Louis says quietly, his voice cracking and low. His hands are slow to sweep along Niall’s sides and then onto Liam’s. “I love you both and I love you _all_.”

Niall squeezes his eyes shut and presses his thumbs into the indent of Liam’s ribs, one on either side. He’s not sure he’s ever _heard_ Louis say that before -- he’s known it, but it’s completely different to hear it. 

They’re two down and it feels like there’s a huge hole where they should be in their little huddle. He wants to cry, Zayn’s fading face at the back of his eyelids, but there’s nothing left inside him to wash it away.

“We love you too,” Liam murmurs, his lips brushing against Niall’s skin. Niall can feel them shift beside his head but Niall stays tucked down, safe between them both. He hears the wet sound of their kiss, quick and chaste before Louis nuzzles back into Niall’s neck. 

The sun is warm on his face for once but Niall suspects it’s because he’s so cold everywhere else. He struggles into the spare jumper, grateful that it had been shoved over his head in the first place. Liam pulls on a spare t-shirt but neither of them attempt their jeans lying salted and shrunken, stiff as a board against the side of the dinghy. 

They fill him in, feed him the last of the tinned tuna that was in the emergency rucksack that Louis had dragged out with him but it makes him thirsty, the brine working at the nicks at the back of his throat. Liam counts his swallows of the dank rainwater, his hand poised at the end of the bottle and Niall knows that he’s taking too much -- that they’re allowing him more than his fair share. He watches as they take their go, an unspoken agreement moving between them on heavy looks and chaste sips from the canteen. 

“More,” Niall urges them but Liam smiles at him and tugs him into another hug. Louis screws the cap, checks it twice before setting it back into the bag that’s tucked away safely under a gap in the wall of the raft. 

“Harry?” Niall asks once they’ve settled down, Niall with the blanket pulled around his waist like a long kilt. Liam looks young for a moment, sitting shamelessly with only his t-shirt, stretched and pulled so it barely covers him up. Niall’s not sure where his boxers are drying but he can’t see them plastered to the side of their boat so he presumes they’re lost to the ocean along with the rest of their things.

“He’s over the side,” Louis tells him, taking pity on Liam and throwing him one of the still damp coats. “Put that on you, you exhibitionist.”

Liam’s face breaks into a smile and it sets Niall’s rapid thurra-thumping heart at ease. Little fragments of normality finally slipping into the scene in front of him. He likes it -- Louis’ little ribbing remarks and Liam’s gentle acceptance of them. It feels familiar. 

“Is he ok?” Niall asks. He finds himself nervous for a moment of what he’ll find when he looks over. He hesitates, fingers curling into the blanket. He’s trying not to think of Zayn but he has to if he wants to remember Harry underwater. He can remember his anger, his upset expression. The slow, reluctant show of power between them. Harry’s face pressed against Zayn’s. 

Niall inhales sharply. Maybe Harry didn’t want to leave either. He’s suddenly anxious to see him and make sure he hasn’t disappeared too. 

Louis snorts, breaking his reverie. “Having the time of his life.”

Liam keeps grip of the blanket waistband so Niall doesn’t fall in again and the thought flits across his mind, makes him panic so viscerally that he nearly feels the water engulf his face as if he had been submerged. 

“I’ve got you,” Louis says, sliding his hand over where Niall has his fingers gripped around the safety ropes on the inflatable side of the raft. He hadn’t even noticed that they were shaking. He gives Louis’ hand a squeeze and peers over the edge. 

The water is blue and white froth. Niall hadn’t noticed before but they’re moving, not quick, just enough for the water to throw up some fizz and bubbles. Through it all he can see the flick of a glittery tail, Harry’s strong shoulders and the trail of grassy green hair in his wake. He’s close to the surface, one hand disappearing down out of sight and the other dragging himself and the boat through the water. Niall remembers him doing that last night -- or the night before if he goes by Louis’ time frame. It doesn’t feel like that long ago. Niall breathes roughly out his nose and leans down, his hand reaching out. 

“Niall,” Liam says and it’s not in warning, Niall can recognise the worry in it instead. His fingertips dip in easily, slice through the water. It’s cool but not as cold as he remembers -- not that teeth chattering cold that causes your entire body to seize with cold. 

It takes a moment for Harry to realise that Niall’s hanging over and then he’s emerging out of the water, shaking his hair out with a wild expression on his face. They bob along, Harry treading to keep up with the momentum he’s created for their liferaft. 

“You’re ok?” Harry asks desperately, his voice stretched like a reed. He reaches up, his fingers spun with white webbing. There’s so much of it now, his hand laced in white and Niall knows it’s because he’s been in the water so long. It drips like fine gossamer bunting between his knuckles -- it’ll take him so much longer to change back. They touch for a moment, briefly, their wet fingers sliding off each other. Niall’s still feel pruned from being in the water for so long but Harry’s are smooth. 

“Yeah,” Niall gasps. All the blood is rushing to his head and the water is spitting up at him, making it hard for him to catch his breath like this. 

Harry’s expression smoothes out and he doesn’t look as gnarled as before. “Get back onto the boat. I’m hoping we’ll be near land soon.”

“Do you actually know where you’re going?” Louis calls from over Niall’s shoulder and Harry’s face hardens for a moment. 

“Do you want to fucking swim the boat to shore?” Harry yells back at him and there’s a tense moment before they both let out a bark of laughter. Louis squeezes Niall’s wrist and Niall knows he’ll have to go back soon. He’s starting to get light headed. 

“Go,” Harry says reassuringly. Niall doesn’t want to leave him. He looks so much better than the papery, fragile image that he’s got etched in his head. The corner of his face dull and pale in the moonlight from exertion. He looks better now that he’s able to swim under the water and doesn’t have the burden of Niall in his arms.

“You saved my life,” Niall blurts out and finally the tears are coming now. Hot and wet as they spill onto his cheeks and fall off his face into the ocean. Harry smiles at him and Niall knows that he doesn’t mean it to be so grotesque. 

“You saved mine too,” he says, voice watery and distorted. Niall blinks and it’s fractured, the way Harry reaches up to him. Like Niall’s seeing it through frames of a photograph or there’s a strobe light, cutting out every other second so Harry’s movements look slow and stilted. His face is wet, hair dripping in a tangled mess at the nape of his neck but his tongue is hot as he kisses him. Niall grunts into it, free hand clasping in Harry’s as Louis grips the other. 

Harry draws away before Niall’s really ready but it breaks him out of his reverie. It feels like he’s suspended again, right on the brink of tipping back into the water and he shakes himself, lets Liam and Louis haul him back up a bit. 

“I’ll get you home soon,” Harry promises him, gossamer webbing clinging to Niall’s fingertips as they let go of each other. Harry sinks back into the water, chin dipping down into a wave. Niall can still hear him, mouth full of water but more familiar, the old Harry he knows. “All of us back together.”

*

“Where do you think he is?” Niall asks, running his tongue over his cracked lips. They still haven’t found land, morning slowly slipping into afternoon. 

“Tucking into the biggest cheeseburger he’s ever seen,” Louis says and Niall groans. His stomach is in pieces, running only on his meagre ration of rain water and the three soggy crackers that Liam allowed him for lunch from the bottom of their bag. 

They’ve already played this game -- anything to get off the topic of Zayn -- but Niall indulges him, hums for a moment before matching him, one for one. “Some freshly cooked naan and a bowl of nice hot stew.”

“Not Harry’s fucking fish curry,” Liam finally chimes in. He’s been quiet for a while and Niall had thought he’d finally fallen asleep. There’s a pause where Niall can nearly hear how big Louis is grinning. They’re spread out across the bottom of the boat, their heads in the middle. Niall can feel the heat from Liam’s pressed against his and if Louis makes a particularly energetic movement he gets a brief head butt off him too. Niall looks up at the sky, squints against the sun. It’s still high but the day is dragging in, minutes stretched for hours with nothing much to do. He can’t sleep, his brain hyperaware of his surroundings now that he’s no longer so exhausted he’d been forced to sleep. He’s too achey and irritable to amuse himself. Too seasick to move. 

“The pashwari from Mahindra’s,” Louis says and Niall’s stomach growls loudly as he thinks of the most popular eatery in town. “Zayn loved them. Would eat them one after another when we all shared that flat up on Fountain Road.”

Niall sighs, lets his eyes shut. It’s hard to imagine the four of them living together on land. Especially when it wasn’t all that far away from his own home. Harry in the bath to see his legs change colour, Zayn trying to figure out how to pay electricity bills. He thinks of how happy they must’ve been when Liam came back from sea and the four of them could be together again. Their bond so strong that every day apart was painful until they all decided to set off for sea with him.

Liam snorts. “The first time he had paneer.”

Louis cackles, his hand slapping down onto the rubber bottom of the boat. It reverberates and Niall turns his head, presses his ear to listen to the hollow sound. It’s terrifying, that cavern of space below them and then the deep, vast ocean. Zayn’s down there somewhere, slipping away from them the further they go to shore. He blinks his eyes open and catches the browning side of Louis’ face and tries not to think about it. 

“Should we go to Mahindra’s when we get off this goddamned boat?” Niall asks. Liam’s silent for a moment and Louis sighs loudly, his lank fringe puffing up off his forehead. 

“I don’t think so,” he says softly. “Wouldn’t be the same without --”

They’ve been treading in circles around the subject of Zayn, dipping in and out of conversations that edge close to them finally breaching the fact that he’s not there. It’s inevitable, really. Zayn’s life is interwoven so closely with all of them. Niall was glad he hadn’t had to say much, Harry having filled them in while he was out cold. He doesn’t want to have to relive his experience. He clears his throat at the memory, makes sure that his airway is clear. Just in case.

“What should we have to eat then?” Niall asks and then sighs. He isn’t sure his stomach can hold out much longer. He’ll have to barter with Liam for the last Ritz biscuit. Talking about food is better than being quiet over Zayn, though. 

“A roast,” Liam and Louis say together and then laugh, lazily reaching out to slap each others palms. If Niall closes his eyes he could imagine they’re back on their own little fishing boat, all of them lying out on deck to soak up some sun before going back to picking prawns out of the trawler. It smells more salty, the sea uninhibited by the stench of their fish stocks but the sounds are different. There’s no clank of their chains, not caw of the seagulls that flock to their decks. Only the dull, monotonous knock of their cow bell that‘s trussed up to the side of their dinghy. 

“We’ll need to get another boat,” Niall mentions. He’s talked his sore throat into a low croak but he doesn’t care anymore, it doesn’t hurt now he’s got stiff bones and salt cracked lips to worry about. 

“And another crew member,” Liam says quietly. Louis doesn’t say anything and Niall closes his eyes so he doesn’t have to see how distraught he looks. 

“We don’t --” Louis starts but his voice is already giving out. “We --”

“We’ll pull extra weight,” Niall finds himself mumbling. “You can teach me how to work the radar. I’ll do more nightshifts.”

“We can do them together,” Louis agrees, turning his face and nodding at Niall. His eyes look bloodshot, ringed with red. “Liam the captain and Harry looking after us all. Niall and I can pick up the slack. That’s what we’re here for. It won’t be the same as you guys would do it, but we can manage. We can do it until --”

“We can’t.” Liam cuts him off. “We need a fifth person.”

“We _don’t_ ,” Louis argues. He’s finally starting to sound as tense as he looks. “We made it long enough before Niall joined us.”

“A few weeks,” Liam retorts. “And we were exhausted. We need more hands on deck.”

“But it’s finally --” Louis’ voice peters out then with a soft whine. Niall swallows and reaches for his hand, gripping his pruned fingers with his own. 

“Simon won’t let us go on as a four,” Liam says and it just sounds sad, all the argument draining out of him. Niall can feel him grapple for Niall’s other hand and he stretches until he can touch him too, the three of them linked in the middle of their boat. “It’s not practical. It won‘t be the same. How are we going to catch enough fish to meet our targets one man down? It’s a five man quota for a reason.”

“He’ll understand,” Louis says desperately but there’s no use. “Simon’ll get a bigger cut this way.” Niall can hear the resignation in his tone. He’s silent for a moment before he lifts his fist, Niall’s hand going with it as he thumps it against the rustling tarpaulin. “For fuck’s sake. Zayn can just fuck off and be happy while we’re stuck with finding a-- a-- _replacement._ “

Niall turns to look at the sky again, his eyes burning and watering. 

“It’s not a replacement,” Liam says staunchly. Niall doesn’t like when they argue -- it can go on for days of bickering and sniping. “We’d never _replace_ \--”

“We had just got the five of us,” Louis says, cutting Liam off. “Finally felt whole. I don‘t think I can go back to not having that.”

The thought of the boat without Zayn terrifies Niall. There will be space in their bed, just big enough to fit all five, an extra space at the dinner table. There will be no more glances over his shoulder to see Zayn peering down at them through the grotty cabin window, no words of encouragement over the tannoy when they’re hauling their catch. Zayn won’t be beside him under the deck, singing under his breath as they sort and pick through the ice with frozen fingers. No one to laugh with as they fight for the first shower, no one to sneak in with him under the spray. 

It’ll be just as bad wherever they are -- a Zayn shaped hole beside him when they’re used to being close every day -- but it might feel normal someplace new. Niall holds onto that. 

Niall squeezes his fingers, listens to Liam and Louis‘ quiet breathing. “Then,” he says softly. “We’ll just not go back.”

*

Niall falls into a fitful sleep. He dreams again, dark haggard figures twisting in his head until he’s back underwater with those green eyes again. He sees Zayn, his hair floating in tufts through the water, his face wrinkled and tense. Long, gnarled fingers reach for him. Curl around his bony wrists and tug him away. 

He wakes with a gasp. He’s pressed between Liam and Louis again, his blanket skirt tossed over them as they curled around each other when it had started to get cold. It takes him a moment to work out that they’ve stopped. There’s the telltale slap of water against the side of their boat but there’s no rock. It makes him feel dizzier, that stilted steadiness that he’s been waiting for for so long but not used to in months. 

He drags himself out from between them, stands up unsteadily on the bouncy rubber bottom. They curl closer together and Niall watches them for a moment as they squeeze into the space that was once his. 

They’re good at that -- they’re better suited to adjusting than they think. 

Dawn’s breaking above him so Niall can see where they’ve washed up. The beach is small, a tiny stretch of dirty sand. It’s surrounded by trees, a tiny enclave that looks onto the bay and the rest of the sea. 

The sand is wet when he climbs over the high side of the boat. He wonders for a moment if he should wake the others but finds himself trudging through the sand away from the boat. He staggers -- his body struggling to find that equilibrium again.

Harry’s lying not too far off. He reminds Niall of a small beached whale, his human skin growing back slowly across his back and legs where he’s sprawled on the shore. He’s still spattered with scales, glinting in the dim dawn sunlight. It’s slowly retreating, his ankles still woven together but his skin has faded back to peach across his bum. Niall kneels beside him, presses his hand to his shoulder to make sure that he’s alright. His skin is warm as he rolls onto his back, his eyes fluttering. His hand is still laced with white, sand sticking to the delicate webs as he reaches down to push a hand into the slowly separating space between his thighs, his dick lying soft against the crease of his thigh. 

Niall laughs, presses his fingers to his forehead as he sleeps on and then gets back up to explore the beach. 

It’s drier the further he walks, the sand becoming soft and sticking to his wet skin. The trees hang low, a dusty silver bark and dark leaves that skim across the sand, raking through them with the sharp end of the branches. Niall follows the thin lines in the sand like a trail, stepping over cracked roots into the growth. They snap under his feet but he doesn’t feel it, even against his bare soles. It feels oddly like he's floating over them, nothing pressing up against the soft skin at the bottom of his feet.

It’s dark here, the trees blocking out most of the light. The bark reflects the sun away, leaving everything dank and damp. It smells musty, like the back of his granny's wardrobe. Her old coats growing old hidden from the sunlight. Still, he trudges through it. He’s not sure what he’s looking for, just that he needs to keep walking. He thinks back to Harry waking in the sun, his legs grown back. Thinks of Liam and Louis curled together in the boat, looking after each other. Of Zayn back with his family. 

The trees grow looser as he walks, the thick trunks separating out. The branches growing together, growing out sideways instead of down now that they’re away from the beach. It’s like a canopy above him, a thick ceiling of black leaves and silvery, ashen spindling branches. They curve together, forming a path through them littered with a carpet of black velvety leaves. They curl around Niall’s toes as he treads through them, turning left and up the slope. His knee burns and he wonders if he’s wrecked it in the sea again, his bones aching as he reaches the top. There had been a false weightlessness when he was in the water but now he can feel the ache of gravity.

As quickly as the trees had started, they stop. The trail ends abruptly in a bright shine of sun. Niall’s not sure how long he had walked but the sun is higher now, warm against his skin now that dawn has properly broken. 

He comes to a stop at the edge of the flat grass, his toes curling over the lip of the dirt. The drop isn’t far, a few feet maybe -- he’s jumped further off the pier at home when he was younger. 

The water looks clear, Niall can see the sun reflected back on it’s surface -- a crystal blue pool lagoon. He’s pulling his jumper off before he really thinks about it, dropping it at his feet and tumbling over the side in a clumsy dive. 

He falls, air whooshing through his salt-caked hair, catching under his arms and across his ribs. He kicks his feet out, twists a bit and closes his eyes. 

He breaks the surface a few moments later, the breath knocking out of him. He sinks a metre or two before rising easily to the top. 

It’s warm. Like he’s dived into a bath. He blinks water out of his eye and stares up at the wide circle of dark, curling trees around him. It feels peaceful, complete silence around him as he floats on his back. He drags his hand out of the water, watches the sun catch the drips off the ends of his fingers. He tips his head to the side, opens his mouth to let some of the water into his mouth. 

And then it floods back to him. The restriction of the water against his skin, the prickling of the cold against his muscles. The feel of the water soaking into his lungs as he tried to breathe. Zayn’s bloodshot eyes, so familiar on a face of a stranger. 

He panics. Flails. The water sucks him under for a moment, his buoyancy disturbed as he flings his arms and legs out. He fights for breath, the sun warming his face each time he breaks the surface for a lungful of air as he haphazardly swims in the direction of the edge. He struggles, his vision blurring as he inhales more water. It’s sweet and disorientating as it cloys at the back of his throat. He retches, chokes against it. 

And then his knee hits the ground, sinking into the silt and sediment. He feels out with his hand and gasps with relief as he realises it’s hardly deep enough for him to drown. He rolls over, water splashing as he settles with his arse dragging against the bottom of the pool.

“Christ,” he swears to himself, fisting his hand in the water bed. It only feels about knee deep. He stares across the lagoon, water dripping into his eyes and tries to remember from which point he had jumped off at. It had definitely been deeper there. It had to have been. 

It all looks identical, trees looming over the edges. The wall of the clearing is covered in more leaves, thin saplings hanging down and trailing against the wall, like they had been pinned there by a keen gardener. A web of silver branches. Niall blinks away from them, the glint of them making him feel sick. He unsticks his tongue from the roof of his mouth as he tries to swallow. 

He lifts his hand through the water, clear enough that he can see his legs beneath. The floor looks like sand, rich and bright yellow under the rolling ripple of the pool. He cups them together over his groin and brings a mouthful to his lips, lapping it straight out of his hands. It tastes of honey, thin like water but rich and sweet. He groans as it coats his raw throat and brings another hand to his mouth, drinking down the sweet water until his stomach and his head feel full and heavy. 

He brings another cup to his mouth, feeling greedy for it, like he can’t stop himself. He groans, his voice sounding fuller and stronger than it has for days. The water is like a salve, slicking thickly over everywhere that’s hurting inside. He blinks, his eyelashes sticking to the warm wetness on his cheeks, like they’re stuck with honey too. 

The sun feels warm and Niall finds himself sighing, his muscles relaxing as he drops back into the water, enveloped with warmth, eyes fluttering closed.

He wakes to the water being completely still. A slate grey sheet below him, like glass never meant to be broke. Niall looks down, sees his own reflection in it. He’s pale, his eyes sunken into his face. His hair tousled and in tufts at the side of his face. His face ripples in the water. At the far end of the lake, surrounded by tall, craggy rocks is a blur of white. They’re pristine, four white and imperial mute swans. They stand proud, their feathers ruffling. One spreads it’s wings restlessly, a flurry of slapping before it settles again, tucks its head in beside to the others.

Niall’s transfixed. He stares, his vision blurring and transferring, snapping back into full focus as the moon comes out, turning everything a shimmering silver grey.

He hears the noise first, a faint rumble in the distance like thunder far, far away. The wind picks up around him, his hair lifting with it. His neck feels hot but the air cools it, sends a chill down his spine. He inhales, takes in a lungful of sweet air. It feels pleasantly heavy on his tongue, a physical presence reminding him that it’s ok to breathe.

The boat he’s in -- rough and wooden -- creaks with it. Niall pauses. He can’t remember getting into it. It rocks, the oar knocking against the side but Niall barely feels it, too transfixed at the flurry of light – tiny spectrums twisting and spinning in front of him, gold and silver and bright like tiny fluttering orbs. They could be fireflies, Niall thinks but he’s never seen them in real life so he isn’t sure. They look more rounded than flies though, perfectly spherical dancing in front of his eyes. 

The twist in the air, tiny motes of glitter caught in the moonlight dancing before his very eyes until they draw away, swirl through the air towards the other end of the lake.

They draw in tight, encasing something in the distance like a shell as the sound gets louder -- a low stampede. 

Zayn appears, regal atop a huge white horse. It whines softly, a burst of hot air from its nose as it snuffles and twists its head. Niall thinks he can hear it snuffling right beside his ear even though there are a few feet between them. He shivers. 

“Zayn,” Niall says faintly, his voice caught up in his chest. It’s like he’s underwater again, that restricted feeling tight on his vocal cords but nearly sensing that Zayn can understand him without even breathing a word. It’s comforting, knowing that he’s listening.

“Hi,” Zayn says softly. He’s a few feet taller than him, his bare legs clenched around the breast of the horse. They’re still scaley, like Harry’s, wide patches of lilacs and blues slowly decaying along his knees and thighs.

Niall had expected more than ‘hi.’ He looks important above him, his chest bare and reflecting moonlight. The green contrasts with the dark around him, makes him stand out stark against the bright, craggy rock behind him. There’s a faint marking on his chest, thick ropes twisting around him like a loose armour. They knot together at his hip but it seems like an illusion because when Niall shifts his head, he can look right through them and see the soft skin of his side. 

“What are we doing?” Niall asks him. He can’t remember how he got here. They had been on the boat but it was different. This one is a little wooden one like his dad has in the back garden planted with marigolds. He’d been thirsty, his throat raw. He feels fine now, swallows just to make sure and nothing feels amiss. He clears his throat again just to repeat himself. “What are we --”

“I’m not sure,” Zayn says, his shoulder shrugging. It seems so out of place with the way he’s sitting, his back straight and his hands in front of him on the reins. Niall frowns, pushes himself forward to stand up. He can’t move, his feet locked in front of him. He tries to look down but he can’t – he just knows that he’s been glued there.

“Are you coming back?” Niall asks, too impatient to wait any longer. Zayn’s face tightens, his mouth forming a line. He doesn’t say anything for a moment and Niall opens his mouth, “Are you com--”

“I’m safe where I am,” Zayn answers him and there’s relief in that, Niall knows that he’s safe but he it doesn’t make him feel any better.

“Yeah,” Niall agrees, suddenly desperate for Zayn to come with him. “But are you coming home?”

“I am home,” Zayn answers, his voice smooth after a pause. Niall feels like he’s listening to him through the radio, his words bouncing into Niall’s ears twice. Two televisions on in the same room with a split second delay. 

Niall gasps, “This is a dream, isn’t it?” It’s slow, the realisation. Seeping through him like a damp dew. Everything is mottled, the edges faded out like someone has came and burned away at the sides of vision, like it’s old crumpled photographs tucked away into a damp box that have had too much sun exposure, the image blurred and faded. 

Zayn is a bright spot. 

“Can you not stay?” Niall says, shaking away the thought. He wants to soak up as much time as he can with Zayn before he has to go. He wants to touch him. He wants to pull him close. 

His hands are still locked in his lap and his feet won’t rise. He can’t even look down to check, Zayn filtering through his vision instead. His face twists, the knots tightening. His face turns into a scowl, bones cracking with the effort to contort into that shape. 

“Zayn,” Niall gasps. “Please.”

He reaches out for him but he’s too far away, no matter how hard Niall stretches up. His fingers brush the soft, hair of the horse and it rustles again, coughing out and shaking it’s impressive head. Niall gapes, his hand still outstretched for Zayn. 

He doesn’t reach down, not even as the boat begins to rock with the power of the restless horse. There’s a sickening crack of the wood splintering by his knee. The spherical lights pop before his eyes.

“Zayn,” Niall whimpers and he slides sideways, the untouched surface of the lake swallowing him up as he sinks, his vision slowly turning a twinkling violet. 

On the far edge of the lake a swan ruffles, wings spreading to their full width. It’s powerful, a show of flapping strength and breadth. It lifts swiftly, wings cracking in the still air and takes flight.

Niall wakes to something whipping past his face. He jerks, water splashing around his wrists. He can hear his name being bellowed across the clearing. It’s loud, echoing off the tall walls surrounding him. The leaves flutter but there’s no wind. Niall sinks a bit, he’s lying against the edge of the pool, half his body still submerged in the water. 

“Here,” Niall shouts and hopes it carries. Just like in his dreams, his croak is gone. He can hear the others like they’re standing right beside him but it isn’t until he opens his eyes again blearily that he sees them all the way at the opposite side. 

Louis yelps and then he’s tugging off his shirt. Niall sits up, still groggy and disorientated from sleep. He finds himself looking around for any evidence of the little wooden boat. It isn’t there, but perched above him on the nearest tree is a large white bird. Niall stares at it, it’s wings fluffing as it stares back.

Far above him, Louis raises his arms.

“Don’t!” Niall tries. “It’s not deep enou--”

It’s too late. Louis’ already falling through the air towards the water. Niall yells out again, a garbled mess of words that don’t really mean anything as he watches him slice through the surface. 

“Louis!” Liam and Harry yell desperately from the top of the cliff. Niall looks up. It didn’t look that tall before but it’s definitely a cliff now, Harry and Liam tiny figures away in the distance. Niall blinks, his vision blurring with hot, desperate tears as he scrambles to his feet. The water laps gently around his calves as he starts to wade towards the ripples. “Louis!” he calls. He can hear Harry and Liam arguing at the top of the cliff but he pays them no attention as he walks into the centre of the pool. The water never deepens, still lapping around his lower leg. He stares down at it, watches his toes sink into the golden sand. 

“Louis,” he calls again, his voice not as strong as he gives into the sob growing in his throat. “Please don’t be dead,” he mutters to himself, throat choked up. He can’t lose another one. 

Louis breaks the surface just as violently as he entered it, gasping for breath and splashing about. 

“It’s fucking warm,” he calls once he’s caught his breath. Niall sniffs, wipes at his eyes just in time for Louis to turn and swim towards him. “Sweet too!” He twists, shouting over his shoulder at the others. “Come down!”

“Don’t drink it,” Niall warns, standing stock still as Louis swims closer. He’s not sure when he’s able to stand up, Louis rolling easily from front crawl to wading through the shallows. 

“I’m fucking parched, Niall,” Louis tells him once he’s a metre away from him, breathing roughly. He walks into Niall, pulling him close to his sopping chest. “Don’t bloody do that. You just nearly drowned and you go for a nice leisurely dip in the pool?”

“I --” Niall starts but he’s not sure what he means at all. It hadn’t even came into his head earlier on. He had just felt the urge to jump. He turns his head into Louis’ neck, presses his lips against his damp skin. He tastes sweet, Niall’s tongue lapping out to lick it off his throat. 

“Kinky,” Louis says, muffling a laugh into the side of Niall’s cheek. “RIght, let’s have a drink, shall we?”

Niall shakes his head and pulls away from him. He feels another wave of drowsiness but he blinks it away. Harry’s starting to climb down the trellis of leaves but Niall can’t watch, he just rides on the momentary wash of relief he feels when he realises they won’t jump in. 

“It’s weird,” Niall tells him, unclenching his jaw. “I don’t think we should drink it.”

“It tastes like sweet tea,” Louis says, flabbergasted that Niall would refuse to drink it. Niall blinks at him. He knows that it’s so tempting. He can still taste the honey at the back of his throat. 

“It made me sleep, it made me--” Niall cuts off, swallowing down his greed. It made him _dream_. “I drank it and then passed out. I don’t remember how.”

Louis takes him in warily. “You were up early. It was probably the heat from the pool.”

“Louis, please,” Niall pleads. There’s something twisting at him, a basic instinct to get Louis out of the water. He wants to keep him safe. He reaches for Louis’ arm, to try and stop him from scooping any of it out but Louis pulls away, shooting him a disgusted look. 

“Oh so you can drink until your hearts content but I’m not allowed a measly cupful?” Louis asks sharply. Niall takes an automatic step back. “I haven’t had anything to drink except rainwater and spit for days.”

“Louis,” Niall says uselessly as he watches Louis gulp it down. There’s nothing Niall can do now that he’s decided his fate. Louis is his own person, Niall has to remind himself that. 

He watches as Louis groans, drops to his knees in the shiny sand and leans in until he’s lapping at it straight with his tongue. Niall wonders if he looked this desperate earlier. His face determined and urgent. It makes his stomach roll as he stands over him. “Please,” he says one final time. Louis glances up at him, like he’s going to give him one of his trademark rolling of the eyes when they just keep going, eyes going white and fluttering as they disappear into the back of his head and he goes splashing back into the water. 

It’s much scarier watching it happen to someone else and it makes Niall cry out, his hands clumsy as he lunges for him so he doesn’t sink under the water again. Louis feels heavy, his skin slippery against Niall’s pruning fingers. His legs splay out in front of them and Niall has a wild urge to kick at his ankles like it’ll help to move them. 

“What happened?” Liam yells from the top of the cliff. It looks taller now that Harry’s making his way down, only half way from the ground. Niall isn’t sure why it’s taking him so long. He’s glancing over his shoulder as he hangs and Niall blinks away, Louis sagging against his knee. 

“You’re ok,” Niall says shakily, mimicking Harry from a few nights ago even though Louis can hardly hear him. He’s breathing loudly, something that sounds unnatural when Niall’s used to sleeping beside him quietly for the past year. “You’re ok,” he says softly, rubbing his fingers through his damp hair and tries to find some comfort in his own words. 

Liam splashes into the water a few moments later, his body sinking far into the middle of the pool. He’s jumped. Niall glances over his shoulder, his own arms growing tired of holding Louis’ limp body out of the water. Liam swims quickly over to them, finding his feet somewhere close by. He doesn’t look fazed by the sudden shallowness of the pool -- Niall wonders if he even noticed. He can’t stop thinking about how it had suddenly came upon him earlier. Sand shifting under his toes.

“What’s happened?” Liam asks desperately. 

“He’s asleep,” Niall tells him. “He drank the water and now he’s asleep.”

He’s starting to sound slightly hysterical. Liam frowns, water dripping off his nose and settles a hand on Niall’s shoulder. “Ok,” he says and pats him, hand damp. “We’ll get back to the beach and hopefully he’ll be awake by then.”

Niall nods, suddenly relieved that he has someone else to take charge. Liam’s their skipper. He always knows what to do.

“Are you alright?” Harry’s calling from the other side. He’s still at the water’s edge and he seems so far away now. Further than he had before. Niall blinks away, the wall to the lagoon looming above them.

Liam waves at him before bending down and hauling Louis easily over his shoulder. Niall watches him, his stomach rolling as he watches Liam’s muscles move underneath his skin. 

“Let’s go,” Liam says gently and Niall suspects he’s talking to Louis. “Let’s get back to our boat. Let’s all get back to the boat.”

They splash through the water, Niall trailing behind him, watching as Louis’ head bounces and bobs with Liam’s gait. It’s not until they’re nearly half way across does he realise that the pool hasn’t gotten any deeper. He looks down, catches the glint of the bright sand around his feet again, still as solid below him as it was at the edge of the pool. 

“Something’s not right,” Niall tells him quietly. He can feel it in his bones. Everything is too bright. Too sunny. His skin prickles and burns with it. Where are they? Where are the people. Niall’s never heard of this type of island off the coast -- not even in some of the specialised weather reports Zayn used to find on the internet. 

“I know,” Liam says, his voice a strained cheerful. “Water shouldn’t make you sleepy.”

Niall nods, not feeling any relief in being right. Normally, Liam would agree with him and he’d feel all that worry, all that stress, everything slip off his shoulders. But Niall just feels more tense than ever. 

He glances up at the dark trees, their silver winding trunks looking more grotesque as the day wanes on. It’s like someone’s taken a photo, the grainy negative background where they’re bathed in bright sun exposure. He’s sure they were in his dream too.

“Are you alright?” Harry asks him once they reach him. He’s still patchy from the scales, like the remnants have been branded onto him. “This place gives me the creeps. I don’t think I should get into that water.”

Niall nods in agreement. Harry reaches for Louis, helping Liam climb up onto the solid earth. The ridge looks higher than before and Niall’s so confused, the water lapping below his knee and Harry’s feet nearly at eye height. Harry reaches down for him too, his hand big and dry as he hauls him up. They hadn’t sloped down the entire walk across the bay. 

“Yeah,” Niall lies. He still feels unsettled, his skin too tight for his bones as he pads damply through the undergrowth. Harry nods, his face set in a firm line. He squeezes his hand and doesn’t let go as they set off after Liam and Louis. 

*

Harry wades into the ocean and catches them fish while Niall pulls the dinghy properly onto shore, dragging it up the little beach that they have and setting it up just below the first canopy of trees. Liam tugs at the branches, pulling at the silver sticks and twigs until he has enough to build them a little rustic fire and by the time Louis stirs, they’ve got a little homey set up around them. 

“Fuck,” Louis moans and rolls over, pushing his head into the pillow of sand. He coughs, spraying sand everywhere. They’ve left what little clothes they had at the lagoon and Niall hadn’t fancied going after them. He needed to put distance between himself and the water. They’ve only got a thin threadbare t-shirt that Harry had been wearing and the tatty blanket that Louis had left in the boat. The thick, waterproof coats are much too heavy to be wearing in the heat so Niall’s been sitting on one as close to the trees as he can to save himself from burning. 

“Watch,” Harry says primly, his hand brushing some of the sand out of his lap. He’s more scaly now, the last trip into the ocean reigniting them all over his legs and waist. They catch the sun as it sets, the scales on his hip the same colour of lilac as the sky. “You’re getting me all gritty.”

“ _You’re_ gritty,” Louis snipes as he sits up. The entire left hand side of his face is covered in sand. Harry smiles at him, reaching up to brush it gently away from his eye. His hand settles there and Niall wishes, for a brief moment, that it was him. Louis’ face softens and then he flops down onto his back again. 

“Feel fucking hungover after that,” Louis says quietly. Niall glances over at him, takes in his expression. He doesn’t look sad or unsettled -- just irritated like they’d sat up most of the night drinking the last of Niall’s whiskey stash. “What is that stench?” Louis snaps, his voice has gone croaky again, just like Niall’s.

Liam grimaces. “The leaves I think. They’re burning.”

Louis huffs out a breath. Niall can’t blame him, he’s been acclimatising to the acrid smell of the fire but it still smells pungent. Niall watches as they shrivel up on the edges of the branches, curling in on themselves like paper and burning like damp cloth. Liam’s devised a little spoke and spit to roast the fish. He turns them carefully, the skin crisping up under the heat. The bark looks shiny, like it’s galvanized metal instead of soft from the tree. It flakes around the edge of the fish, peeling back like shrivelled steel shavings and falling into the fire where Liam’s jammed the branch through the mouth of the fish. It’s little beady eye staring lifelessly out as it turns. It’s unnerving, something familiar in the deep black of it but Niall’s starving -- he’ll eat anything at this point.

“Grub’s up,” Liam says a few moments later. Louis’ worked his way into Harry’s side so they shuffle forward together, hands and limbs sprawled over each other as they kick up sand when they move. Harry doesn’t seem too bothered about sand in his lap now that Louis’ there too. Niall tugs the coat around himself tighter against the spray of it. He’s the only one that isn’t completely starkers. 

They eat with their hands, Niall picking apart hot flesh before it can cool down enough. It tastes good, charred enough that there’s flavour burning away the salt. Niall’s had a look at their reserves of water when he had tugged the boat in and there’s not that much left. He swallows a mouthful of hot fish, feeling more thirsty than before he’d thought about it. He doesn’t want to have to back to the lagoon. He doesn’t want them to fall asleep again.

“It’s good,” Louis tells Liam, smiling thinly at him. “Who knew you were such a cook.”

Liam squints against the fading sun, his fingers oily. “Just what dad taught me when we used to camp.” He looks so much more childish with his face screwed up, Niall notes. He didn’t know that Liam used to camp. He glances over at the little falling down shelter they’ve remedied themselves out of the massive leaves they’ve found and wonders if his dad is just a woeful teacher. Liam grins again. “I’m still not a master at it. I won’t deprive Harry of that job yet.”

Harry beams at them, his mouth full. “If I had my way I would’ve just served it up raw.” He punctuates it with a little shrug of his shoulder. 

“That’s because you’re still half fish yourself,” Niall blurts out. Harry looks at him and lets out a stunned laugh. 

“A _merrow_ , Niall,” Harry says lightly. He rips at something with his teeth. Looks feral for a moment. “Much more dignified.”

Niall hums and flattens his thumb against a scaly patch of his thigh. It’s the only bit he can reach with Louis in between them. “Still got a tail.”

Harry’s face falters, dipping down into a frown and Niall blinks back at him, wide eyed. He clears his throat. His tone might’ve came out more pinched than he had intended. 

“You ok?” Liam asks carefully. His hands are still oily, a stripe of grease across his chin where he’s rubbed at his face. Niall blinks at him, realising Liam’s addressing him. 

“Maybe he’s feeling a little bitter about nearly being stolen away by a group of mermaids.” The way Louis says it makes it sound harsher than it’s meant but Harry’s face shuts down all the same. 

“Merrow,” Harry corrects him tightly, pulling both his elbows into himself and forcing an inch of space between them. He starts to draw his knee up too, the warm flesh disappearing from beside Niall’s wrist. “And you were both well aware before we --”

Louis cuts him off with a snort. Niall doesn’t want them to argue, not when they’re the only people seemingly for miles and stranded on a sandy beach somewhere. It’s not familiar enough for them to all storm off and cool down by themselves. Not that their old boat was big by any means but here there’s no bow to stalk, no cabin to sulk in, no bedroom to disappear into when you needed a moment on your own. Here, Niall could get lost. 

Here, Niall could lose _them_. 

“Weren’t aware of what was going to happen, were we?” Louis says bitingly and tears into the final fish. Harry had caught five without thinking. Niall’s not sure if Liam had noticed when he trussed them up for the fire. 

“I didn’t know either,” Harry says but it just sounds resigned. He’s argued enough with Louis to know when to let it go. Niall’s secretly glad -- even if he sort of wants to flesh it all out more too. They’ve sort of swept the whole situation under their very sandy carpet. “Just because me and Z--” Harry takes a breath. “Zayn are the same. I couldn’t have prepared anymore than you could’ve.”

Louis nods tightly, staring down at the remains of the fish in his hands. 

“Maybe we should just all go to bed,” Liam suggests. “It’s been a long few days. We should catch some sleep while we can?”

Louis nods and gets to his feet. He drops the half eaten fish into the fire and Niall sits for a moment to watch as the flames engulf it. It sizzles, the beady eye still shining. 

“Come on,” Liam says gently, his hand curling under Niall’s bicep to help him up. “We’ll feel better in the morning.”

Niall nods and stumbles to his feet. Liam steadies him, his face soft. 

They’re sleeping in the little hut that Liam’s divvied up but Niall wishes they had decided to stay in the boat -- it feels more protected than the exposed stretch of beach. They haven’t seen another living thing apart from the fish but Niall can’t shake the feeling of something watching him. Liam’s hand is a solid weight at the base of his back as Niall brushes the sand carefully off his feet and legs before he climbs in, feeling oddly like he’s wiping his feet on a doormat. 

Louis is already shaking their flask of water, staring at the sky woefully. It looks clear -- no rain tonight. 

“If we all have a mouthful each,” Louis says carefully. He takes a sip and holds the flask out for Liam. “So we can have a little bit leftover for later.”

Liam nods, takes a mouthful. He frowns down at the rim of the bottle, like he’s contemplating how little it really was before he passes it to Niall. 

“Thanks,” Niall says quietly. It’s warm and barely refreshing as it slides over over his tongue when he takes a sip. There’s only about half of the bottle left. “Here,” he says, holding his arm up for Harry who’s still standing on the beach. 

“I can go back in,” Harry says quietly. “Let you keep your water.”

Niall stares at him, arm still held out. He doesn’t want Harry to disappear back into the ocean. He likes him like this. With legs.

“Don’t be silly,” Louis say coarsely. “Take a sip and climb in here. We’re all going to sleep together.”

Harry stares at him for a tense moment, Louis studiously avoiding him, before his face slowly breaks into a smile. “Okay,” he says quietly and carefully crawls in. He flails a little bit, his knees knocking against Niall’s. He takes a sip -- far smaller than the gulp Niall had but no one calls him out on it. All three of them a little bit more selfish than they’re willing to speak aloud. 

They settle down together, the blanket thrown haphazardly over their legs. They have to press close but Niall doesn’t mind. There’s security in the way they squeeze together, even if Niall is on the outside tonight, thorny branches scraping against his hip if he rolls back too far. Louis sighs in front of him, reaching back to drag Niall’s hand over his hip. They’re still sandy, tiny bits of grit clinging to their leg hair and sweaty backs but Niall tries to ignore it, pressing his face into the warm space at the nape of Louis’ neck. 

“I’m not doing this if you’re gonna be huffy,” Harry says a few moments later, his voice rough. Niall blinks his eyes open, flattens his hand to Louis’ chest and feels the kick in his heartbeat. 

“I’m not huffy,” Louis protests quietly and presses closer to Harry, trapping Niall’s hand between them. “You can do this.” 

Harry snorts softly but it’s followed by the soft sounds of them kissing wetly. 

They can do it. But Niall’s not so sure he can. He slides his hand back, untangles it from where Louis and Harry are pressed together. 

“No,” Louis breaks off wetly, scrambling for Niall’s hand again. “All of us, come on.”

“It’s not all of us though,” Niall says without thinking. Louis stills in front of him and Niall can feel the immediate tension in his body where it’s still pressed against him. He flops back, stares up at the fading sky instead. Louis rolls back too, squeezing into the too small space for him so they’re pressed shoulder to shoulder. 

“Well,” Louis starts and Niall turns his head, staring at his profile. Over his chest Niall can see where Liam’s clutching his hand around Harry’s chest. 

“We might have to get used to that,” Liam says quietly before Louis can say anything more vitriolic. 

Niall stares at him, sees his own hurt reflected there. 

“Liam,” Harry says, curling into Louis’ shoulder. Niall watches as they both envelope him in a hug and tries not to shiver in the chill from the breeze. 

“Come on then,” Louis whispers hoarsely, reaching out to drag Niall into their warmth. “Sleep. Everyone. Dream of rain.” 

*

Niall sleeps fitfully. He had been dreaming but it’s filtered out of his mind now, thin wisps of knotted rope and glittering purple skies that Niall can’t get a grip of now that he’s woken.

He’d seen Zayn again, could feel the warmth of his horse’s breath against his neck. He shifts, Louis rolling with him, his face pressed against Niall’s hot shoulder. 

“Don’t go wandering again,” Louis says, his voice muffled. 

“Won’t,” Niall tells him quietly. Harry’s asleep on Louis’s other side, his arms flopped out so he sprawls over the rest of the space in their makeshift tent. “Just going to get Liam.”

Louis hums, already falling asleep again. 

It’s barely dawn, the sky a lurid pink that’s growing up from the horizon. Niall stares at it, the sea stretching out to meet it. Red sky at morning, sailors’ warning. Niall snorts to himself.

Liam’s off in the distance, barely visible in the predawn light. He’s waist deep in the water, his hands spread out until his fingertips skim the top of the water. It looks calm. _He_ looks calm.

Niall stands at the edge, the water lapping his toes but going no further. Even with the stillness, Niall can’t shake the dread welling in his stomach.

“Morning,” Niall murmurs once Liam’s close enough, the croak in his throat audible now that it’s back. He needs more water and there’s a tug, just below his navel, to set him off down the path towards the lagoon again. He digs his heels into the sinking sand. 

Liam glances up, a smile stretching across his face. “Hi.”

“Are you alright?” Niall asks. 

Liam nods and then pulls a face. There’s water dripping down from his waist and his elbows. He shakes water out of his hair. He looks haunted for a moment and Niall feels his gut twist in anticipation for Liam will say. “Niall, have you ever had to take a shit at the beach?”

Niall snorts so hard that it turns into a cough. He hacks a few times, spits up a ball of phlegm that’s been growing in his throat the past day into the wet sand at his feet. 

“Happy to say that I have not,” Niall tells him, fighting the grin on his face. "Maybe ask Harry, though." 

Liam gives him a pained look, shaking out his damp hair. “It’s not a pleasant experience.”

Niall nods, not doubting him. There’s a rustle behind him and Niall glances over his shoulder, jerking when he has to do a double take. “Holy fuck,” Niall breathes. 

High above them, nestled each bough of the trees are birds. Colourful, huge birds. Their faces tucked into their wings as they sleep. 

“They must have came during the night,” Liam whispers, his hand reaching out to touch at Niall’s hip. Niall shivers, staring at the rustling wings. It’s still too dim to see them properly but Niall can see the pinks and blues and purples layered together. They’re otherwordly. Niall’s never seen so many birds this quiet -- he’s used to the overeager, brash cawwing of seagulls desperate to prey on some of their recent catch. Niall stares, picking out the one lone white bird in the middle, huddled in the middle with it’s head down low. It rustles it's wings, as if it knows that Niall's looking. 

“Come on,” Liam says, taking Niall’s hand. It’s a small gesture, but Niall squeezes his hand back nonetheless. “Let’s go back to the others.”

Niall feels quiet as they walk back across the beach, Liam’s hand still a tight grip in his own. It’s nice -- the lull in conversation, the contentment to just walk in silence. Liam’s breathing calmly beside him, a slow intake that seems to ebb with the tide lapping at their feet. 

The sun is just rising, bright pinks spreading across the sky and fading as it turns a lilac-blue. There’s a flap of wings behind them, a single trilling call from a bird and then the silence stretches on. 

Niall squeezes Liam’s hand, slowly pulls him back towards the tent. It’s a ramshackle little thing but Niall likes it, something there that’s making him feel like he’s settled. It’s nothing like home -- not when Niall longs to be back in their boat -- but it feels comfortable. Controlled. 

Harry and Louis are awake when they draw closer, kicking up golden sand as they go. They look well rested, their limbs sprawled together. 

“Good?” Louis’s asking skeptically. There’s sand all up the back of his calf, his knee bent in the air above him. Harry’s curled on his side to face him. “Like I’m-on-dry-land-and-had-a-kip good or suck-a-dick good?”

Harry barks out a laugh. “Like I’ve got someone’s tongue nice and wet at my arsehole and my dick is sinking into something warm and plush while someone tugs at my hair with just the right pressure.”

Liam lets out a choked laugh, his hand flexing in Niall’s grip. “Christ, Harry.”

“Oh,” Harry says, rolling onto his back. Niall can see where he’s already sporting a hefty boner. Harry shrugs, his mouth turning up into a cheeky grin. “Good morning.”

“So matter-of-fact,” Louis says with a shake of his head but he’s grinning as well. Niall smiles back -- it’s contagious. “Suck-a-dick good.”

Harry beams at him, cocking a hip so he looks even more ridiculous where he’s sprawled out. “Why don’t we test it out?”

Liam’s giggling again, his eyes all crinkled up at the corner. He drops Niall’s hand when Harry holds an arm out, tugging him in. Liam stumbles down onto his knees, kissing him easily on the mouth. “Liam’s up for it,” Harry says suggestively, dropping his other hand to cup around his hip and drag him closer.

“I just feel really good,” Liam murmurs and Niall struggles to hear him over the lap of the ocean and the movement of the trees. The sun is barely up but Niall can already feel it burn into the span of his shoulders but it’s not enough to be uncomfortable -- or rather, the discomfort seems very far away, like he knows what should be happening isn’t really registering with his mind. 

Louis is watching him, his tongue pushing the side of his mouth out obscenely and his eyes sharp. Niall’s seen him get like this before. “Niall, you coming to join?”

Harry and Liam stop kissing long enough to look up at him. They both look warm and soft, Liam’s face is going crinkly around the eyes again and Niall sighs, stepping through the little opening they’ve got for their shelter. 

Louis gives him a bright grin, sliding his leg down flat so Niall has space to crawl into the middle. It still feels like they’re missing a huge piece of their puzzle but Niall can understand what they’re talking about -- there’s a contentment settling over Niall, a soft warmth that’s making him feel _happy_.

“Stop thinking,” Louis tells him, resting a warm palm against Niall’s arm. His fingers curl around his bony wrist, squeezing tight for a moment before he tugs him down into his chest. “We just want to feel good.”

Niall doesn’t miss the desperation in Louis’ tone. He gets it -- this is something that can be _normal_. They’re just waking up like any other time they would, rolling into a morning cuddle before Harry instigates something a bit more dirty. Niall’s played this scenario out numerous times before. He’s woken up during various stages of this routine twenty times in the past month. 

But usually Zayn’s there with them. Usually, Zayn’s there laughing along. 

“Suck-a-dick good,” Harry reminds him. 

Louis snorts, brushes his hand down over Niall’s hip to reach for him. “That can be arranged.”

“And the tongue?” Harry pushes, his own tongue appearing to lick over his lips. 

“Not at Liam’s arsehole, anyway,” Niall blurts out. He feels nervous, something weighty threading through the high that he’s already on. He hadn’t meant to say it and his stomach twists, his heart pounding with panic, like he’s just raised his hand in class without really knowing the answer. It curls in his belly, like heat roiling through him. He groans, slides his hand down to cup around his dick. 

Liam reaches for him, shoving him playfully in the thigh. “I washed!” 

Louis snorts, laughing into Niall’s cheek before he kisses him quickly. Niall sighs, tries to let his heartbeat calm down as kisses him back. Tries not to be sick with the nerves fluttering in his belly. 

It feels like there’s something keeping him up high, his whole body turning responsive to Louis’ touch. He’s never felt like that before, felt like he couldn’t control it. He puts it down to the sun slowly seeping into his skin and making him feel lightheaded. 

“Maybe we’ll just keep mouths above the waist then,” Liam is telling Harry, ever practical, to the side. “Just to be on the safe side.”

Niall, somehow through the fuzz in his ears, hears Harry protest but Liam’s kissing him quiet when Louis pulls away, letting Niall turn his head to see them. They’re both panting, Niall suddenly short of breath. Each burst of it feels bright, his lungs expanding. He throws his head back, extends his neck and breathes in. It feels like such a luxury, now. Now when he knows he can. 

Louis’s hand is gentle as it skims down his neck, his thumb pressing against where Niall’s pulse is pounding. There’s a flicker there, something ticklish like Louis is pressing against where the gills had been. Niall chokes on his breath, drags his eyes open. 

It feels slow. Every touch intensified and huge. It takes a moment for his brain to catch up, to work out how every receptor in his body is lighting up. 

The carpet of leaves feel slippery when he gets to his knees, rearranges himself so he’s sitting between them instead of against Louis’ belly. Louis rolls, his hand reaching out to touch against the back of Niall’s knee to make him gasp. 

“C’mere,” Liam’s saying, shifting away from Harry to crawl into his space instead. “Niall.”

Liam’s a gentle weight above him, pressing between Niall’s legs until he can kiss him properly, one hand keeping his body up off him, just enough that Niall has to buck up against him to get any friction.

It doesn’t take long at all, Liam’s rough patchy stubble against Niall’s sun-raw cheeks and the pressure as Liam grinds down against him to get him hard. He can hear Louis and Harry murmuring beside them, both of them shifting to get a space together, Louis’ shoulder pressing against Niall’s bare hip. 

Liam laughs roughly against his mouth, pulling away for a moment to lick over where Niall’s lips are too cracked. It should sting but Niall groans, his hips rolling up. Niall flings a hand out, knuckles brushing a lump of sand where the branches have came away. Their tent is falling down around them as they move but he doesn’t care, nothing matters except the soft, warm mouth against his. 

He feels so aware that there’s only four of them. That there’s someone missing. 

On the boat, sex between all five of them at once was special and rare because of their work but the fifth person was never too far away, just down the corridor. Niall groans, Liam’s hand snaking down to wrap around his dick. It feels like a velvet heat, his skin soft and lusciously warm but Niall still wants his mouth. 

“I want you,” he mumbles, reaching out with his tongue to lick over Liam’s top lip. He feels desperately needy for a moment, his hands clenching at Liam’s hips. There’s sand between them, grating as he squeezes at Liam’s skin. “Please.”

Liam grunts his ascent, shifting until he’s grinding up against him. NIall throws his head back, thrusts up against Liam’s stomach. 

“Ah,” Harry whimpers from somewhere near his knee. “Fuck.”

“Harry,” Louis half groans, petering out into a giggle. “You are ridiculous.”

“Gimme a few minutes,” Harry assures him, rolling off to the side. He looks mussed, Niall muses once he gathers enough momentum to strain his head up to see him. “I’ll be good to go again.”

Louis sputters a laugh and curls onto his side, glancing up at Niall with a small grin. “Niall’s gonna come now, isn’t he?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Niall moans and he isn’t sure why but he knows he will soon, Liam’s fingers working deftly around the head of his dick. It feels much too soon but there’s an incessant throb running through him. 

Louis kisses his thigh, rubs his chin there for a moment to watch how Niall jerks his knee. He moves slow, or Niall thinks it’s too slow, until Niall can feel the soft pressure of his breath, barely there and ticklish over the damp sweaty crease of his thigh. Harry’s knuckles brush against his thigh, too cool to feel normal, before he wraps a lazy hand around Liam. 

“Come on then,” Louis says, dipping his tongue into the V of Niall’s groin and slowly licking around the base of his dick. It feels wet, but not enough. Niall whines, lifting his hips up again. Liam’s breath stutters, his lips moving noiselessly over Niall’s jaw and down to the base of his throat. He bites there. Niall feels like he’s on fire. 

When Louis finally sucks him into his mouth, his tongue a quick hothot heat against his slit, Niall’s already coming, cresting across a bough of pure pleasure as he comes into Louis’ mouth. It feels better than he’s felt in a long time, the tingling barely subsiding at the base of his back, making him rock into the heat of Louis’ mouth. 

“Two for four,” Louis says, pulling away and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Liam’s crouching forward, his face very close to Niall’s as he tries to breath through Harry’s strokes with his hand. Louis smiles at him, eyes crinkling and reaches in to help. “Think I can get all my boys to come.”

Nobody corrects him that he’s counting one too many, Niall’s still riding high, little buzzes of pleasure zinging up his spine that’s making him want to laugh. He feels a distinct ball of guilt unravel in his belly, like it’s spools of gold that spill sheer happiness until Niall’s laughing into Liam’s mouth, reaching up to kiss him because he’s so close. The guilt’s only making it better, a disorientating buzz disjointed to the heavy feeling of how he’s missing Zayn.

He could nearly get used to it. 

He gasps as Liam comes, Liam biting down on his bottom lip before he pulls away to breathe raggedly into Niall’s neck. Niall can feel his come smear between them as Liam collapses into his chest, curling into Niall’s lovedrunk arms but Niall doesn’t care, he’s too stunned by his thought process. 

For a quick moment he wants to talk about it -- blurt out to the other boys about how good he feels, how he thinks they could work together. But he presses his lips close together. He can’t say that. Not now. Not ever. 

“C’mere,” Niall can hear Harry murmur to Louis and then they’re kissing, Louis rutting up against him. They fall against Niall’s legs again and Niall sighs into Liam’s hair, smiling into the scratchy, greasy mop behind his ear. 

When Louis comes, Niall can feel it buzzing across his skin. Like he’s soaking it in where they’re pressed, shoulder to hip. All of them connected.

Niall swallows down his guilt again. Pulls Liam closer. 

Somewhere out along the beach, the dawn chorus finally starts. 

*

“The pashwari from Mahindra’s,” Liam says dreamily. “And a gallon of tea.”

They’re playing the game again. Niall stares up at the sky, presses his temple to the dry side of Liam’s face. It feels like it’s been days since they were last playing it. 

“A bit of stale toast at this rate,” Louis snips. “But I’ll take the tea.”

Niall doesn’t answer immediately. There is no rush. 

“Three sugars,” Niall says, just to play with Louis. It works, Louis’s hand thumping up against the side of their boat. The tarpaulin crackles but the reverb isn’t as loud as Niall had been expecting. Niall knows their little dinghy is starting to go flat. 

“ _No sugar,_ ” Louis tells him. Niall can tell even without looking that he’s scowling. “That’s a nasty habit that you’ve picked up.”

Niall laughs, rolling over onto his side so he can cuddle up to him. They’re both naked, skin dry from the exposure to the sun. Louis grunts but lets him hug him anyway. 

Niall doesn’t mind playing the game this time. He isn’t hungry -- Harry’s lunch of more fish is hanging over Liam’s rudimentary fire but he has no pangs for it. Harry had slid under the surface of the ocean at shoulder height and came back an hour later laden with food. Niall had felt sick watching him go, his head disappearing below the froth as Niall stood resolutely at the shore. 

He’s sprawled naked between them now, Harry’s face pressed into the stiff front of Liam’s t-shirt as he whines -- his legs regrowing back across Niall’s lap as the sun sets them aglitter. 

“This is so gross,” Niall croaks, rubbing his hand over the still mottled skin below Harry’s knee. His ankles are still knitted together, the scales looking sharp and thick around his heel before they kick out into a half formed fin. Harry flicks it at him and Niall snorts, dodging easily out of the way but catching some residual spray in the face. It’s cool and makes him shiver as it drips off his chin. 

He presses his thumb to a sore spot above his knee cap, presses in as hard as he dares. Harry winces, a hand coming down to brush against Niall’s wrist but he doesn’t stop him. Niall thinks he knows the feeling, his weeks in the First Aid room during footie practise and after school. His dad always told him to press as hard as he could to get the scar tissue moving again and he’d grit his teeth and _press_ until he couldn’t stay standing. 

“Feels nice,” Harry mutters, lips slowly turning pink again. “I think I like my sea legs better.”

“I think you’ve got that metaphor mixed up, love,” Louis tells him softly and plunges his fingers into Harry’s hair, already back to normal. Niall’s trying not to look up at his face too much because it’s still half in transition, his eyebrows growing back while the rest of his body lags behind, half smudged pockets of emerald like bruises across his skin and scales slowly shedding onto the plastic beneath them. 

Niall’s decided that he just wants Harry one way or the other. Not the in between bit. 

“I never thought I’d say I’d miss dredging fish,” Niall murmurs, a little while later. The day seems to be dragging forever -- sun too high in the sky for it to be much past morning. 

He’s not bored exactly, his bones sated enough to just lie in the sun. It is hot but Niall isn’t itching at his skin yet so he’s stayed propped up against the side of their dinghy. There’s a restlessness, somewhere buried deep, deep down in his body but it doesn’t seem important enough to surface so Niall sits on. 

He’s been bored before -- hours on end in the boat as they waited before the frantic rush to get all the fish from the net and into the ice room. Niall used to hate it, the way there was only so many steps from one side of the boat to the other, how he could never leave the confines of their cabin. Harry would nap by the window, the artificial light colouring his chest while Louis picked at old nets and pulled them down to twine. Liam and Zayn would curl together over the radar and talk quietly about their next move. 

But here, his mind goes blank until something comes along to pique his interest. His concentration skittish. He finds himself daydreaming, colours and shapes bursting in front of his eyes before he blinks and it’s just the heavy leaves of the tree they’ve sought shelter under. It’s disorientating but Niall can’t find the energy to fight it, his bones heavy and relaxed where he lies.

“Tell me a story,” Harry says, starfishing out across the sand towards him. He’s still glittering, his scales slowly retreating. It must be the longest Harry’s been in the water since he first decided to go up on land. Niall can see how happy he is, his mouth turning up into a smile at any given moment. 

Niall feels it too. The sun warm against his skin but he doesn’t feel dehydrated anymore. The beach is pretty, flowers blooming along the edge now that it’s day time. Petals unfurling and bright yellow stalks hanging heavy with pollen. The birds are gone, their call somewhere deeper in the island. There’s a curious want deep down in his belly to go and find them, search them out. Maybe they’ve made a home beside the lagoon. 

Harry twists his knee, his legs sprawling open and it’s distracting enough for Niall to stop thinking about the urge to crawl to his feet and go exploring. 

There’s something there though, lingering below it all. Like Niall shouldn’t be _allowed_ this. That it somehow isn’t right. Niall swallows roughly against it. That panic that’s been building for days -- that _fuck you’re shipwrecked_ panic -- has finally dissipated and Niall wants to enjoy the free feeling in his chest. It nearly feels like he’s floating. “You’re the great storyteller,” he says, fighting to distract himself. 

“Come on, Niall,” Harry cajoles, reaching out to cup his hand around his ankle. Niall smiles, resting his head back on the sunken side of the boat. The rubber feels warm in the sun. Harry murmurs, “I know you’ve got a story inside you.”

He does. He has plenty. He has the stories that Greg has told him to keep him scared as a child, dark figures waiting outside his bedroom window and hiding under his bed. He has the fairytales his father whispered to him as he fell asleep, of children turning into beautiful swans on slate grey lakes and fearless giants crossing the sea. Niall thinks of the birds this morning. They seem like part of a dream. 

“There was once --” Niall starts but Louis snorts, face turning into a crooked smile. 

“Once upon a time,” he mocks. He’s shifted so the top of his body is out in the sun, his skin pinking up just like Niall’s. 

“Ssssh,” Liam hisses at him, cracking an eye open. Niall was sure he had been asleep, his face turned away from them and into the sun. Harry smiles, rubs a hand up under the hem of his t-shirt.

“ _Once upon a time,_ ” Niall repeats Louis’s mocking tone, just to let Louis know that he’s not annoyed. Louis gives him a tired wink and settles back, otherwise happy to listen to him. Harry’s staring, eyes rapt. “There was a legend of a man, a great warrior called Fionn. He stood ten, fifteen, twenty feet tall and defended Ireland from all her foe.”

When Niall closes his eyes, he can nearly see him -- tall and well built, the glint of the sun off his spear and the trees hanging heavy all around him. Maybe it had been raining that morning, making the trees green and damp. Maybe there’s a mist from the lake, the sun making the morning break warm. Maybe the sun was beating down like it is today, making Niall feel warm and relaxed. 

“He was hunting one day and found a doe who transformed into a beautiful woman,” Niall mutters, hearing the clatter of hooves in his ear. The rustle of trees. The boisterous shouts of the men. Niall can feel the excitement stir in his gut. 

“Niall,” Louis breaks in. “Catch the fuck on.”

Niall ignores him -- Harry and Liam are staring at him, their eyes on his face. Niall looks away again, struggles to find the story. It’s that long since he’s heard it, his dad’s voice faint in his mind’s ear. He imagines the soft brown fur of a doe, wide brown eyes that are too beautiful to not be human. They’d be ringed with gold, and endless. Like Niall could get lost in. 

“She had been enchanted by an evil druid for refusing his love but Fionn found her beautiful and soon she was pregnant,” Niall carries on, ignoring Louis’ little snort of laughter. Bobby would settle him on his knee and tell him all the stories about faeries and witches and giants who fought in the sea. Greg used to laugh when Niall would beg for more. Bobby would smile at him, giving in to tell him a little bit more each time. “But Fionn was called out to fight again and while he was away, his wife was lured out of their castle by the druid. He turned her back into the deer and for seven years Fionn was forced to search for her.” 

Niall clears his throat. It’s starting to feel cooler, the skin on his arms and legs pricking up into gooseflesh. Yet the sun still beats down. “After seven years, he found a boy in the woods, Oisín, who was just as beautiful as his lost wife,” Niall takes a breath. Bobby used to skim over these parts, these parts that Niall didn’t really understand. “And he was his son. Fionn took him in and reared him, turned him into a great poet and warrior just like himself.” 

Bobby would say, _”We need to leave enough for tomorrow.”_ And Niall would settle down to sleep with dreams full of glittering magic and majestic castles at Tara. He’d see himself all trussed up in belts and boots, he’d have a bow and his dad would’ve teach him how to hunt. He would feast on salmon and beef. Drink wine and dance with all of his brothers. It always seemed so much more magical than getting up in the rain and heading to school. 

Bobby would always smile at him, cuff him round the ear and send him out with a round of burnt toast for the bus. He’d tell him to keep his head out of the clouds and leave the Tuatha Dé to themselves. 

Niall clears his head. There’s something melancholy in the thought but it’s as if he can’t allow himself to feel sad. Something falsely buoying him up from the inside out. The more he dwells on it, the better he feels. Niall blinks the wetness out of his eyes, feels a throb of elation in his gut. “He became part of the Fianna, a group of Fionn’s followers, bonded together in love and strength and power. They helped him and his father. They were brothers.”

Niall sighs. As a child, he’d longed for that type of camaraderie, to have a legion of brothers to share his fortunes with. Greg would ignore him, the boys in school would always have to go home to their own house at night, his dad would go to work. 

“But soon, Oisín met a beautiful fairy queen called Niamh of the Golden Hair --”

“Niall, are you our queen of the golden hair?” Louis interjects. Niall grins at him and then ducks his head. It allows him a moment to clear the tightness from his throat. 

Liam laughs softly, already giddy, “Certainly are fit enough.”

Harry lets out a bark of laughter, his thumb rubbing gently over the knobble of Niall’s ankle. 

“Continue, Niall of the Golden Hair,” Louis orders him. Niall grins, lifts a hand self-consciously to his hair. It’s caked in salt and dry but warm from the sun between his fingers. 

“She offered him a lift on her horse to TÍr na nÓg, the land of eternal youth. People have searched and searched to get there and it is the resting place of all the great ancestors of Fionn and Oisín,” Niall says. He closes his eyes and lets the sun warm his face. “His father reluctantly agreed to let Oisín go with her. He knows he can’t deny him a chance at seeing TÍr na nÓg, even though he’ll miss him dearly. That’s two people he loves he’s lost now.” 

Niall pauses, swallows around the rough lump in his throat. He thinks of Bobby at the end of the pier the last time they left for sea, how he’d encouraged him to go out on the boat again. How he told him while they made dinner one night that Niall should follow his heart. How he already knew that Niall’s decision had been made before Niall even realised it. 

“Niall,” Harry says quietly, his hand squeezing around his ankle again. It sounds like a song. 

Niall blinks his eyes open. “And there they lived for three hundred long years, in love, with their little family.”

“So he just gave up what he had at home?” Liam asks him gently. Niall shakes his head where he’s got it leant against the plastic cover, his hair sticking to the back of it. 

“He missed home,” Niall mumbles, throat growing tight. He feels an ache like that too. Something visceral to be in his own bed. To be in his own space. It feels numb -- like something inside his body isn’t letting him feel it fully. The sadness buried deep, deep down below a pillow of pure joy. “And he missed his brothers, the Fianna, so Niamh let him lend her horse to go and visit.” Niall lifts his head and meets Liam’s wide eyes. “But she made him promise that he would never step off it because if he did he would turn to ashes and die.”

“Fuck,” Louis mutters but he’s laughing. “There always has to be some fucking morbid bit tacked onto the end, doesn’t there?”

“What did he do?” Harry asks. He’s curled onto his side and drawn one hand up in front of him, the other still limply holding onto Niall’s foot. His eyes are wide, like he’s caught in the vice of the story. Niall wants to gather him up into a hug. 

“He took the horse, promising to return soon and went back home but he hadn’t realised so much time had passed. He had thought it was only three years, not three hundred. Ireland was a different place now.” Niall swallows. Maybe home will be different too, by the time they get there. “He travelled around the country on the horse in search of his father but some men, seeing how strong he was, asked him to move a stone for them and when he reached to help them he fell off his horse.”

Niall can see his hand outstretched in front of him on the back of his eyelids. The glint of his blade one final time, the shake of the horse’s head. It makes him shiver, the phantom feel of Zayn’s horse against his neck again. 

Niall blinks them open when Harry gasps sharply. He has the urge to laugh at his expression but he knows that this would’ve been his reaction when he first heard it, tucked against his father’s chest. He bends forward, grabs at Harry’s hand to squeeze his fingers. Thinks of how Bobby broke it to him all that time ago. “And then he turned into an old man and died at the side of the road.”

“That’s a horrible story,” Liam mutters, rolling onto his back. He’s not looking at Niall but Niall shrugs sadly, feeling Harry’s fingers grip his own. Louis doesn’t say anything, his face tight.

“Most of them are,” Niall responds. “There’s never a real happy ending. Just the bit where where you stop telling the story.”

*

It starts as a little pitter-patter, a low sound from far away before it’s tip tapping onto the leaves above him. They’ve barely moved, all of them sated and slow in the evening sun. 

“Is that --?” Harry asks just as Liam jolts out of a doze. 

“Rain!” Louis’s yelping, grinning widely. Niall grins too, pushing himself onto his knees and crawling far enough out of the tent they’ve fashioned to reach it. 

It lands wetly on his face, splashing down over his chapped lips and dry skin. He groans, opening his mouth to let some of it land on his tongue. It’s too warm but it’s _wet_ and Niall isn’t sure he’s ever felt so elated before. 

He spreads out, pushes his fingers through the dampening sand and keeps his mouth open wide, swallowing down slowly as his mouth collects with water. It tastes sweet and Niall remembers the lagoon, thinks of it filling up. He gasps wetly, pushing his tongue out for more. 

Harry and Louis have started some dance off beside him, kicking up soft sand and singing nonsense as they grip hands, water sliding down over their faces. Liam’s still laughing, his hands held out to the side with his palms up. He wonders what Zayn would’ve done, if he’d be dancing with Louis and Harry or lying down spread across the soft ground with him. Niall suspects he’d still be under their tent, his hands cupped gently under the lip of it to collect the water as it drains down the side. 

Niall snorts, something catching at the back of his throat. He’s sure it should be a sob, coming over him quicker than he expected it but it comes out as another laugh, too bright and airy to every sound like crying. 

“I can’t stop laughing,” Niall gasps out, blinking through his wet eyes. They sting a bit but it feels good, riding the edge of painful. 

“Me neither,” Liam admits, all at once on the same breath. “Every time I feel bad it makes me laugh more.”

His expression makes Niall cackle. The more intensely he wants to cry, the higher he feels.. It makes him want to gag. “I feel like shit.”

“I miss Zayn,” Liam admits, grin stretching across his face. It’s the first time he’s really mentioned it. “I really fucking miss him.” Niall glances over at him. Over his shoulder he can see that Harry and Louis have stopped their dance.

“We all do,” Harry says, smiling like he’s relieved they’re finally talking about it. He keeps grinning though, until it seems manic. 

Louis screws his face up. “I don’t.”

Niall doesn’t believe him. He sits up to look at him properly, watch how Liam rounds on him. 

“You do,” Liam insists. “Don’t say that.”

“No,” Louis insists. It’s hard to work out what he’s really feeling the way he’s smirking. His whole face lighting up with mirth. 

“Louis,” Harry says beside him. He reaches out a hand for him to take but Louis snatches his away. Harry barks out a laugh that seems out so sad. 

“No! He fucking didn’t say _goodbye_ ,” Louis shouts, managing to get out a whole sentence before he dissolves into laughter. “He disappeared off the side of the boat in the dark and never came back. That’s my last memory of him. That’s the last thing I have to cling onto him was something so inconsequential --” he breaks to take in another deep breath, his voice cracking with laughter. “I wished for him to go over the edge, I urged him to go. Go and save Niall. Go and be a hero. Come the fuck back.” 

Niall feels like he’s torn in two, his body running cold as another laugh bubbles through him. Louis looks so angry, his eyes narrow and piercing but his entire face is alight with laughter. It’s ugly, the way his face twists.

“And you just let him!” Louis shouts and Niall sees Harry visibly recoil. 

“I didn’t _let_ him.” Harry can’t even sound defensive with the way he’s breaking into a giggle. “That makes it sound like I ran off and helped him. He pulled that storm himself.”

Niall sucks in a breath. He doesn’t like to dwell on the fact that this could’ve been planned. That none of them even noticed that it was coming. It really had been the calm before the storm. Niall blinks, lets the wetness in his eyes drip onto his cheeks. 

“Well how am I meant to know?” Louis snaps. “I thought I knew Zayn and he left. How am I meant to know that _you_ won’t go and do the same? Zayn never said and -- look at us--”

Liam chokes, gasps for breath before saying, “he won’t. We’re staying. Aren’t we?”

He glances over at Harry imploringly but Harry’s wiping at his eyes, his grin contagious. “Why do you keep buttering us with the same knife?”

Niall snorts -- this time with a jolt of real laughter. Harry can never get his idioms right. 

“You’re always acting as if I’m the one that’s going to run off,” Harry shouts at him. He’s starting to bend, one hand clutching at his side. Niall thinks he’s probably developing a nasty stitch from the way he’s breathing between giggles. “Why can you never believe that I’m not going to leave you?”

“Fuck,” Louis laughs maniacally. “I can’t do _this_ without one of you.” His whole face is twisted in a some sort of shadowy mirth. Niall doesn’t like it, doesn’t like how his mouth gapes open as he laughs but he can’t help giggle back at him. The laughter bubbling up out of his mouth like he can’t control it. 

Liam’s staring, his eyes running with tears as he clutches his stomach. Harry’s bent double, hair plastered to his face. 

“Fucking hate him,” Louis says and Niall knows in the deepest part of him that Louis would never meat it but it makes him twist, anger lighting in laughter in his belly. He watches as Liam pats him on the back, pulls him into a rough hug.

“It’s alright,” Liam tells him, his hand jerking against his back as he pats him on the shoulder. 

“Why did he have to ruin it?” Louis’s asking. “Why’d he have to go and wreck our boat.”

Liam laughs again, pulling back to hold a hand up to Louis’s jaw. “We still have a boat. It’s a little bit sunken and flat but we still have a boat.”

“We still have us.” Harry snorts again, rearing up and gasping for breath as he laughs. “Fuck, this hurts.” His body is turning green with every splash of rain, like he’s spilt ink down his back and it’s seeping through white, crisp linen. “I want to stop. Make it stop.”

Niall laughs harder, choking on them as they hiccup out of his belly and into his mouth. It’s continuous, the pulsating of his belly as he giggles and coughs. His eyes feel wet. All his frustration leaking out onto his too hot cheeks. 

“We need to go home,” Niall chokes, lifting a hand to his face so he doesn’t have to see them as he cries. “I want to go home.”

Liam grips Niall around the wrist, pulling his hand gently away. There’s a tear clinging to the three day stubble on his chin too. “Come on,” Liam tells him, but his voice carries to include them all. “We’re going home.”

Niall feels the panic building. He glances over, the roof of their tent buckling under the weight of the rain. “We’re leaving?”

Liam looks at him sharply, his eyes crinkled with laughter. “We still have a boat,” he repeats. Louis looks miserable beside him, his face pink. “We still have all of us.”

They run with it, shoving it down the shore and into the water. Niall’s gasping with laughter again, something false buoying him up on the inside to make him elated. It’s making him feel queasy, swallowing so much air as he laughs. 

It’s a relief once they’re out onto the water again. Niall climbs over when he’s knee deep, tumbling into the floor of the dinghy beside Louis. He’s still covered in sand, his knee skidding roughly against the plastic. Louis’s breathing hard, his arm flung up over his eyes but Niall can see where tears are dribbling past his wrist. 

“It’s ok,” Niall says reassuringly, finally glad to hear his own voice again. He isn’t laughing anymore. None of them are. The rain has stopped and it’s nearly silent. Niall’s stomach aches, the muscles in his belly and chest wrung out. “Louis, it’s alright.”

Louis curls into him without a word, pressing his damp face into Niall’s neck and clinging on for dear life. 

*

They’re floating, the waves buffeting them along roughly through the choppy sea. It’s pitch black and Niall can hardly see his hand in front of his face in the light from the stars. It’s breathtaking -- the maps of stars up above him. They seem to span for miles, disappearing far off into the distance. It makes Niall’s breath catch -- the endlessness of them. Vast.

Darkness had fell quickly as they left the island. The temperature had dropped too, disappearing with the sun until everything was dark and grey. 

He shifts closer to Harry, feeling out the familiar shape of his chest in the dark. Harry snuffles roughly near his ear and then curls around him, dragging him into the heat of his skin. 

“You awake?” Harry whispers to him. 

“Yeah,” Niall mumbles. He licks over his raw lips and tastes the salt. He wishes it would rain again. Now that they’re away from the island, Niall has never felt more parched. He’d just have to open his mouth to the sky. He keeps his mind off the lagoon, the calm stillness of the water, the sweet honey taste at the back of his throat. 

He feels Harry’s hand run up his side and focuses on how he tucks it into the space below his armpit. It tickles but it’s nice, keeping him settled against his body.

“What’s wrong?” Harry asks softly, nosing along at Niall’s chin. He knows he’s only doing it because he can’t see him, needing to feel him out instead. Niall blinks slowly, nearly imagines them back on the boat -- their boat -- and tucked together on their bunkbed. 

“I just hope he’s ok,” Niall whispers. It’s deathly silent except for the four of them so he’s not sure who he’s whispering for. They’ve barely said a word since they’ve left so Niall’s not sure if it’s okay to bring him up. 

They haven’t talked about it. Liam’d been keeping watch, his head raised high enough to see over the sunken inflatable sides until it had gotten too dark to see into the horizon.

Louis had cried himself out, rolling away into the middle of the boat to pretend to sleep. The rubber had dipped under his weight, the plastic sides of the dinghy rising. Niall hopes they find help soon -- he’s not sure how long the raft will last. 

“He will be,” Harry says quietly but Niall can hear the surety in his tone. “He always is.”

Niall sighs, tucks himself closer. He can feel the rough patches of Harry’s skin when they tangle their legs together. Niall’s not sure where the blanket has gone but Harry’s nice and warm against the fast, cold breeze. 

“He said he couldn’t go down any further. Is that true?” he asks all in a rush because it’s been playing on his mind, how Zayn hadn’t really known what he was doing, how he’d seemed awkward in his own skin. 

Harry huffs a breath into his ear, his palm spreading across the base of Niall’s back. Niall wiggles, presses against him until he’s not sure there’s a part where they’re not touching. 

“He’ll get used to it,” Harry says carefully. “He has his family to help him.”

Niall worries his cracked lip between his teeth. He can feel the spurt of blood when it bursts, warm against his tongue. 

“I have his cohuleen druith,” Niall whispers. He squeezes his eyes shut on the pretty sky and the black shadows of Harry’s shoulder. “He can’t dive down without it. Right? That’s how it works, isn’t it?”

Harry doesn’t say anything and that’s nearly all the answer Niall needs. His stomach twists, mind flashing to everything that could go wrong. It’s dawning on him how little he knows about Harry and Zayn, and how they dive below the sea. Even the flicker of Zayn not being able to do it properly makes him feel sick. Niall gasps for breath, his throat constricting at the memory of water sloshing down it. 

“Hey!” Louis says abruptly and then suddenly there’s a dim yellow light. Niall blinks against it, turns his head away from the light and from Harry’s chest but Harry keeps a good grip on him, not letting him turn away properly. 

“Where’d you get that?” Harry asks, his voice calm but his fingers are pressed like sharp points against Niall’s ribs. 

“We don’t want to waste it,” Louis answers snappishly and looms over to shine the light on Niall’s face again. “What’s wrong? What’s got you all upset.”

“I’m not upset,” Niall snaps and finally manages to wriggle himself out of Harry’s grip so he can press his hot face against the wet and cool tarpaulin. Harry presses his hands to Niall’s back, his thumbs massaging gently into the muscles. Niall groans, nearly involuntary. 

Everything is rough against his front for a moment. The plastic scraping at his skin, the sand dusty and gritty against his front. He presses against it, breathing in against the abrasion. He feels exposed -- even if the lamp is hardly bright enough for them to see. He wants clothes. He wants a glass of water. He wants to be home. 

Just like Zayn had wanted to be home. 

And now he can’t go there properly. Because Niall had took a spade to the garden one drizzly afternoon three months ago and buried his special bloody cap. 

“Fuck,” Niall moans. “It’s all my fault.” 

“Hey,” Liam says sensibly. His hands pull at his shoulders to haul him over back onto his back. “Enough of that.”

“We’re never getting back,” Niall says, letting his inner panic drain out through his voice. “We’re all going to die of thirst on this fucking _raft_ and I can’t even get it for him. I didn’t tell a soul where I put them. Not even my dad. How will Zayn get back home? That’s what he wants. I don’t know how to get him home --”

Harry’s face is pulled taut when the lamp swings again and Niall catches a glimpse of it. They all look ghoulish, the lamp setting shadows across their face. 

Louis has the blanket hiked up around his shoulders, a makeshift hood around his face. “Zayn can figure it out himself,” he says, bitterness creeping into his voice. Niall nearly preferred it when he was laughing too hard to breathe. 

“He’ll be ok,” Harry tells him tersely and Niall can hear that tenor in his voice again that sets Niall on edge. He sucks in a breath, tries to hold it in his belly. Pushes it up through his lungs. “It’s not your fault.”

“And we are getting home,” Louis says just as brisk. “I don’t know where the fuck we are, but we sure as shit aren’t staying here. Or --” He hesitates for a moment. “Or _there_.”

Louis smiles at him, his mouth twisting grimmly in the shadows. They’re doing it for his benefit and for a moment it feels stifling, their coddling. He can’t help but think that Zayn wouldn’t do that to him. He’s sit there and listen to Niall’s frustrations, no matter how silly they’d seem. He’d never try to baby him. He’s not sure how he’ll survive without that. 

Niall closes his eyes against the sting. “Save your light,” he says, all energy draining from him. His head feels heavy even though he’s not holding it up. “You never know when we’ll need it.”

He hears the halogen fizzle out and the boat tips a bit -- Niall’s stomach rolling -- as they all snuggle down again. There’s a moment of breathing before the blanket is pulled over him and tucked in down around his sides, Louis sharing it out for them all. 

“He’ll be fine,” Louis says again into the darkness, reassuring himself. Niall listens to the whistle of the wind, tries to pick it out over the roar of his own blood in his ears. It sounds as if Niall’s pressed his ear to a shell. 

“And so will we,” Liam echoes him, the four of them shuffling together. 

Niall wants to question them. How they’ve brushed it all up into a little package. There’s still anger bubbling in Niall’s belly but mostly he’s starting to feel the hollow panic that he’s fucked it up. That he’s going to regret how this all worked out. He doubts that the others have neatly wrapped a little bow around their anger either. 

“Will you tell me more about TÍr na nÓg?” Harry asks quietly just when Niall’s about to drop off again. He feels disjointed, the boat lulling him back under but a bright awareness keeping him from sleep. It’s nearly dawn above them now, the sky grey and dim.

Niall hums, lifting an arm so Harry can curl in close to him again. Over his shoulder, he can see Liam and Louis huddled against Harry’s back. Harry’s skin has gone clammy in the night, damp like he’s been under the water recently. It’s sticky and Niall grimaces into Harry’s temple. “Don’t you have any stories of your own?” 

Harry shakes his head, his hair mussing against Niall’s skin. “Just the stories we make together.”

Niall feels himself smiling despite his mood. “I don’t believe you.” His voice is rough again. He needs water.

“Well,” Harry concedes. “There are stories but none of them end well. It involves a lot of seducing and tricking to get up on land and then betrayal as your favourite fisherman hides away your cohuleen druith in his thatched roof.”

Niall snorts and feels his stomach hollow out. “Or down the back of the garden.”

Harry gives him a squeeze. “Nothing like your land of promise. Anyway, you have a lovely garden. Bobby wouldn’t allow any betraying to happen there.”

Niall finds himself grinning. Harry’s hand sweeping up his belly is distracting enough that Niall doesn’t even dwell on how his father is coping with him being presumably missing. “What do you want to know?” Niall asks, biting back a sigh.

“What’s it like?” Harry asks into his shoulder. “What’s it like there?”

“I don’t know,” Niall mutters. “Whatever you want it to be like. A land of beauty and health.”

“It would be a happy place, wouldn’t it?” Harry asks quietly. Niall’s mind dwells on the sparkling sand of the lagoon and it’s calm waters. The boat rocks around them, the swell of the ocean choppy this morning and he has a sudden longing to return there. Something soars far above them, a blur of white. 

Niall blinks. He’s imagining it. It’s not bright enough for anything to be there. 

“Yeah,” Niall says. He trails his hand over the rough patches of skin that are still practically scales across Harry’s hip. “Of course. You’d always feel happy.”

“I think I’d want to be there with you,” Harry tells him. He shifts, glancing up at him from where he’s tucked in close. Niall can see the brights of his eyes in the dim. “I’d want us all to be together. That would make me happy.”

Niall swallows and he blinks away. Something swoops close to his face and Niall snaps his eyes open again, stares up in the sky. Niall wishes he could be up there, soaring high above the ocean towards land with the birds but it looks blank. Just grey cloud blurring together. 

“Me too,” he says quietly. The wind picks around them and Niall shivers. Harry pulls him close, the skin of his chest cool. 

“And I’d want Zayn there too,” Harry whispers. “I’d want him back if we were going to live forever.”

Niall’s breath catches. He wants that too. He doesn’t want to live forever if Zayn isn’t there. “What happened to _he’ll be alright with his family_?”

Harry frowns. “He’s going to miss us. He’ll want to come back. We’re like the Fianna, right, his brothers.”

Niall’s gut twists. There’s something very vulnerable in the way Harry puts it, that desperation that it’ll all work out like a fairytale. But Harry’s got it muddled in his head, the story not as straight as Niall knows it. It sort of works, Niall can pick through it to figure out what he means. They’re a unit. The five of them together. He tries to focus on that. 

Harry seems to realise, pushing himself up so he’s sitting and staring down at Niall. “Fuck, but all the Fianna are gone. Shit, Niall --”

Niall feels his resolve hardening. He clutches at Harry’s hand, pulling himself up too. The boat tilts a bit, Niall’s stomach rolling. It’s cold above the phantom shelter of the side of the boat, wind catching at Niall’s shoulders. Along the horizon, the sun is coming up. Niall stares at it, feels it burning into his eyes. It’s red. A giant halo of bright light leading the way, soaking the sky a deep vibrant magenta. _Red sky in the morning._ “We’ll wait for him,” Niall says, words dropping out of his mouth without really thinking. 

Harry’s voice has gone quiet. “What?”

“We’ll change the story. And we’ll wait.”

Harry hums, presses closer. Niall turns his face, lets his eyes close. Harry’s breath is warm, his lips wet when he kisses him. 

“Niall,” Liam calls, groggily. Over Harry’s shoulder, Niall can see Louis shift. 

Niall blinks, catches something white at the corner of his eye before they’re being lurched upwards, the centre of the dinghy concaving. 

Niall bounces a few inches in the air, the wind catching behind his ears. He reaches out for Harry’s hand but his skin is slippery, nothing but a bare wrist to catch before Niall’s falling again, sucked into the dark icy water. 

It’s cold. Water flooding up through his nose and into his mouth. He’s too disorientated, his hands flying out to the sides to work out where he’s going. He opens his eyes, just sees black before he’s squeezing them shut again. 

He twists, his chest feeling tight. His system is flooded with panic, the only thing that makes sense is to scramble with his hands, his feet kicking wildly below him out of instinct. He can’t get control of it. Can’t figure out what direction he’s meant to be going.

His first gasp of air when he bobs up feels too short. His head sinking under again, his limbs still treading wildly in the water and he swallows another mouthful of water before he surfaces. 

“Niall!” Louis is calling. Niall gasps, tilts his head back so he can suck in air. It’s raining, fat drops of water landing on his face. They plink down into the ocean -- hundreds and thousands of rippling drops -- the waves all but gone as they float. 

Niall can hear his own ragged breathing so he focuses on that, his fingers and toes giving into the cold and growing numb, until he can work out where he is. The boat is nowhere to be seen, the ocean rolling grey water and white froth. Louis is a tiny head of hair twenty feet away, bobbing ever closer as he starts to swim with the current. 

“I’m here,” Niall calls, his voice breaking. He looks around for the others, pushes the growing coldness away from his body. They’ll turn up. Harry and Liam will be fine. 

The sky is just as grey, the sun low in the sky. It’s sinking again, the pinks and lilacs leeching out of the sky as it fades to nothing. Niall gasps, his vision blurring, sparkling and fluttering white spots in the corner of his vision. He looks left, follows them until his head thumps. 

Niall dips below the surface, coldness clawing up his throat but he sees a flash of bright, glittering scales and he’s up again, air swirling around his face. 

The air feels cooler. More real. Niall takes another breath, feels it right down to the pit of his stomach. “Thank God,” Niall murmurs, his hand clawing at the soaked shoulder of Liam’s t-shirt. Louis crashes into them, legs kicking between Niall’s under the surface. Harry’s got a firm grip on him, his tail rhythmically keeping them all afloat. 

“M’kay,” Liam says drowsily to Louis, his head rolling against Harry’s shoulder. “M okay.” 

Harry snuffles a laugh, pressing his forehead against Niall’s temple. He looks so calm, his skin creeping into a dark green again. 

“I know you are,” Louis breathes, his smile is splitting his face. “Because look.” 

Niall’s breath catches in his throat. Low on the horizon is the unmistakable glow of lights. His yell catches in his throat, too overwhelmed to properly materialise. They’re home. They’re back. 

Harry gives out an excited yelp, his hand tightening on Niall’s hip. Niall can feel the kick of his tail. 

“See,” Louis says to Niall. Liam gives him a wide eyed look but doesn’t say anything. “Who needs a boat when you have us.”

They wash up just as it grows dark, the street lights coming on with a low buzz of sodium, yellow and orange leaking into the foggy pier. It’s quiet where they land but there‘s a hubbub at the far end of the pier, a bright shock of lights and sound. Niall figures it must be middle of the week -- maybe a Thursday with the excitement of the weekend markets. It’s disjointed, their voices carried away from them with the wind. They wade, knee deep in the shallow tide until they reach the shingle beach near the strand. 

He shivers, reaches for Harry’s hand again as they trail after Louis and Liam. Niall’s exhausted, his legs aching and making every trudge feel like hard work. 

“What if we turn to stone,” Harry says, voicing his thoughts so quietly that Niall’s not sure they were for him to hear. 

“We won’t turn to stone,” Niall mumbles uncertainly. The waterbed is cluttered with shells and plastic bottles and Niall struggles through, his bare feet sore and aching. Harry is just managing, his fingers a death grip around Niall’s shoulder as he gets used to using his legs again. Niall hauls him closer, refusing to give into the niggling worry in his stomach that Harry could be right. 

Niall can’t help but remember the first time he met Harry here, how haphazard he had been up on the pier. Liam had been wearing the jumper he’s wearing now, a soft emerald green that made his eyes stand out against his skin. Now it sags down Liam’s back, heavy and stretched with water. It had been just as cold then too, a bitter wind whistling up the pier and making the flags and bunting flap and snap against themselves. 

“You’re doing so well,” Niall tells him, echoing Harry’s words to him from their first time out in the water. It feels like so long ago. 

Harry glances up, his face illuminated by the burnt orange from the streetlights and pulls him closer until they’re tucked together, picking their way back under the pier. It feels too easy -- feels to normal. Niall tries to keep focused on each of his steps, putting one foot in front of the other until they’re under the shadow of the pier. Niall can still hear the hubbub above them, far away and lonely over the breadth of the ocean. It sounds so foreign, like it’s part of another world. 

“There’s stairs here somewhere,” Louis calls over his shoulder. He’s got that manic tone of voice again, like he’s just talking to keep himself going. “If I can fucking find them. I can’t believe there’s no welcome party. What shitting use is having Simon as a controller if he can’t fucking realise his crew has gone missing.”

Harry stills first, stopping short just as they reach the last creaking pillar for the promenade. A piece of driftwood floats past them but Harry’s frozen, his pale skin stark against the grey sky behind him.

“What is it?” Niall asks quietly, reaching for his hand again. “We’ll not turn to stone or crumble into ash.” Niall swallows, aims for a joke. “And if we do, we’ll do it together, yeah?”

Harry’s face is blank when Niall glances round at him and it makes him pause, take in his worried expression. Up ahead, he can hear Louis and Liam, their murmuring growing louder. 

“What is it?” Niall repeats himself but Harry’s stumbling forward, splashing through the water to catch up with Liam and Louis. Niall goes with him, clutching at his fingers as they stumble forward together. 

Niall’s toes slips on the stones of the seabed, the water lapping around his calves now. His skin is starting to itch and prune from being in the water so long. 

Liam and Louis have stopped a few metres from the edge, their faces just as shocked as Harry’s. Niall blinks at them, tries to focus in the dusk. 

“Wha--” Niall starts to ask, twisting his head to follow their gaze. He stops short, his stomach twisting as he stares at Zayn. 

He’s dressed in a familiar looking jumper, his feet hanging a toe over the edge of the cement walkway. He looks just as shocked to see them, his eye wide. Niall can see the distress there though, the panicked wide-eyed look reflected on each of their faces too. 

“Zayn,” Niall mutters, his breath leaving him shortly. He hadn’t been expecting to see him. He feels an initial burst of relief -- that he’s okay, that he’s there, that he’s back -- but it’s muffled by the overwhelming urge to shout at him. 

Louis is silent, his free hand reaching out to grab Harry’s. They stand in a line, Niall’s belly sick with the nervous worry that everything’s been irreparably changed. That once they get up onto the pier that they won’t be able to go back. They can’t rewind and pretend it didn’t happen. 

Niall looks over his shoulder. The only place to go is back to the ocean. His stomach clenches uncomfortably, the back of his neck prickling. That isn’t an option. 

“What are you standing there like some sort of navy widow,” Louis snaps, finally breaking the silence around them. “Staring out at the sunset like that. Get a fucking towel.”

Zayn’s still staring, his hands limp by his sides. Liam gives out a nervous giggle but Harry’s paling again, looking like he’s going to vomit. Louis looks mutinous though, his face hard and his jokes an obvious barrier of defence. 

Niall edges towards the set of stairs leading up to the pier. They’re old and rocky, the edges of each step having lost its sharpness over time. They look hard, the soles of his feet throbbing at the thought of having to go up them. 

“Fucking crawling back,” Louis mutters under his breath as they shuffle closer. 

Liam’s sighing, pulling that concerned face again. He’s got his arm looped around Louis’s back to keep them both steady. “He’s changed his mind,” Liam says and Niall can’t ignore how hopeful he sounds. “He’s going to apologise. We’ve got him back, Louis.” 

Louis snorts bitterly but doesn’t say anything. 

“Niall,” Harry murmurs. “Are you sure?”

Niall glances up at the pier again. It’s the solid ground that Niall’s been longing for but he can’t shake the hesitation creeping into his gut. The red sun’s gone, the sky a deepening black. Zayn’s walking closer to the mouth of the steps now. His shadow blocking out the orange of the street lights.

Niall swallows, tastes honey. And takes the first step.

**Author's Note:**

> Loosely inspired by [ The Voyage of Bran](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Voyage_of_Bran) and to a lesser extent [ The Voyage of Saint Brendan.](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Brendan#The_Voyage_of_Saint_Brendan) Both are arguably examples of an  immram which is an Irish tale of a voyage in order to find the Otherworld -- the land of [Tír na nÓg](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/T%C3%ADr_na_n%C3%93g) which lies off the west coast of Ireland and is a land of everlasting youth and beauty. They usually reach a number of magical and mystical islands on their journey, most of which are not pleasant before they reach paradise. A common feature in tales involving Tír na nÓg is that time changes in some way e.g. will slow down while the main characters are there and when they ultimately return to Ireland, time has moved as normal, meaning their friends and family are now all dead. They then usually turn to ash when they step foot back on land. Tír na nÓg is often reached either by invitation by a faerie like Niamh in Niall's story, touching a branch or by following a bird. It can also be reached by going under water hence Niall's two dunks in the Atlantic Ocean! The Voyage of Saint Brendan is slightly different as some of his voyage is based in fact and he's on a religious pilgrimage instead of looking specifically for Tír na nÓg. 
> 
> I used some aspects of islands featured in these tales -- mostly Bran's -- and tweaked them ever so slightly. Initially, I had the boys visit a number of islands before condensing it into one. The first island they reach sends them to sleep when they drink water that sustains them. The second island was going to be the Isle of Joy. In the various Voyages, at the Isle of Joy the voyager would reach the island and be met with a crowd of people who laughed and pointed but could not answer your questions to them. When one of the men on the boat stepped foot on the shore, he began to laugh uncontrollably too and Bran left behind him. I thought this was a little bit harsh and took elements of it – uncontrollable laughing, a feeling of supreme joy and mixed it with the idea of [Mag Mell](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mag_Mell), one of the versions of the Otherworld in Irish mythology where pleasure is derived from pain. Otherwise, Saint Brendan's voyage contains a lot of sheep, monks and praying and no one really needs to read about One Direction and some giant sheep. That would be a completely different story! Instead, the intense feeling of wellbeing the boys experience turns sour with the realisation that they have to get home and the more upset they get, the more happy they are about it. 
> 
> Niall’s meeting with Zayn in his dream has threads of the [Children of Lir](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Children_of_Lir) with the swans in the background. There’s also four of them, read the symbolism into that you will. It was also a chance for me to stick in a nod to Postscript by Seamus Heaney, which talks about slate grey lakes and ruffling feathers of swans. Go [read it here](http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/postscript-8/) or listen to it being recited by Fiona Shaw wonderfully [here](https://youtu.be/1YpOWFbATBc?t=55s) at the Ceiliúradh. Also, listen/watch [The Gloaming’s set from the Ceiliúradh](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mmq6k0D7w_0) which was the main inspiration for me to revisit this universe all the way back in March. Especially from about six minutes onwards. Also, spot a sneaky shot of Niall at the end being BFFs with auld Micheal D. 
> 
> The trees on the way to the lagoon were loosely inspired by a cross between the [Dark Hedges](http://www.markhinds.net/uploads/1/3/5/1/13519893/9834666_orig.jpg) and a Willow tree. 
> 
> General tag for this series [here](http://www.broken-drums.tumblr.com/tagged/coming-up-for-air).
> 
> As always, any questions, comments or criticisms are welcomed!


End file.
